


"Every incident is raw material to me"

by catwalk



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 30,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2905163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalk/pseuds/catwalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a writer, Erik is a photographer. Charles is interviewed, Erik shoots. AU.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was certainly not the first time Charles Xavier was the focus of a photo shoot and there was not a reason to suspect that this was to be the last one. His career as a writer who actually got some fame was only beginning, and he most certainly was welcoming all the attention and the credit he was given.

Charles had shared the ride to the studio with the woman writing the article, and he been rushed to the hair and make-up straight away. Being busy answering questions regarding his shoe size and belts it took him quite a while to actually realize who the photographer was. There was a small army of people busying themselves with various tasks in the studio space: moving things around, such as wooden boxes, walls, glass tables; piling things, fixing things, setting up curtains, arranging seats, lights, filters, duplicators, shoes, shirts, jackets and endless piles of fruit. 

All that considered, it was not at all surprising that it wasn't until Charles actually stepped between the camera and the first background (a black velvet drop) that he realized that absolutely everything that had been done had been okayed by one man. It was when he was straight under the piercing blue eyes that he realized that those eyes had seen everything and they were the ones he'd felt on him the second he arrived. 

A tall man in a black turtleneck, extremely well-fitting black trousers and ridiculously expensive-looking minimalistic black leather shoes stepped into the light, right in front of Charles, frowned and disappeared back into the shadows.  
“Lighting test one,” Charles heard and the flashes popped.   
“Do I just stand here?” He squinted, adjusting.  
“Yes, please.” This was the only thing said concerning him personally. At least three people rushed into moving the shades and flashes into positions that were defined to them in a steady murmur. A demanding, low murmur - Charles was mesmerized by the power in the voice: there was no need to raise it, no need to rush any words, just simple facts were stated and everybody was on their mental knees.  
Charles adjusted his cuff links for lack of anything better to do. A flash went off again, he staggered back slightly.  
“Sorry if I startled you,” the turtleneck emerged from the darkness again, lifted a polaroid camera to his face and snapped another shot, less deviously this time. “I want to try out different cameras and settings to find the perfect one.” He slid back again.  
The blue-haired stylist who had picked the clothes came to Charles to adjust his collar and scarf.   
“These colors work really well for you,” she said. “You look amazing.”  
Charles flashed a smile at her, knowing full well how charming he looked. A flash went off again. He didn't let it bother him this time. “Thank you, I hope not to let you down.”  
She smiled at him, inspecting the hair and then nodding. “You'll do.” She turned on her heels. “Erik, you should take some with colors as well.”  
The only reply she got was another flash and a pop.  
“This works.” The slender man appeared again.   
“I want you to just stand there. We'll do some awkward, stiff poses now.” He slid back.  
Charles was confused.   
“That is perfect.” And the lights started to pop. “Face front.” Pop. “Now right.” Pop. “Do not twist your torso.” Pop. “Hands relaxed to your side.” Pop. “Lift your chin.” Pop. “Thank you.”  
“That's it?” Charles was even more confused.  
“For that set.”  
The blue-haired woman came to change his jacket and scarf. “Ascot will look nice on you, with the rugged beard and all.”   
“I should try that sometimes on my own then,” Charles attempted at a conversation, but he staggered not be in anyone's way, there were people walking around him, bringing in a huge leather chair, building a background wall, and all the time he felt the blue eyes on him.   
All of a sudden everyone was gone from around him again.  
It was almost like the eyes lit up from the darkness. “I want you to sit now. Like you own the world.”  
Charles sat, this he knew how to do.  
“Do you smoke?” Blue-eyes asked.  
Charles shrugged. “Sometimes.”  
“Cigars?”  
“Yeah, they're fine.”  
“Give me a Cuban,” Blue-eyes stated. “And a metal ashtray.”  
Charles was delivered a lit cigar, which he gratefully took. He saw cigarette smoke coming from the area he felt the gaze arriving. The second he puffed the cigar, the lights started flashing.  
“Slouch. Enjoy yourself. Good. Look at me.”  
“A drink would go well with this,” Charles joked.   
“Right. Whiskey good for you? No ice.”  
This was delivered. Charles sipped it and made a face. Lights flashed. “This is really good.”  
“We only do high quality here.” There was a little amusement in the murmur. “Get him a bowtie.”

This went on quite a while longer than Charles could keep count. His clothes – including trousers, numerous sports coats, scarves, shoes – were changed so many times, he sat or lay on more leather pieces of furniture and wooden boxes than he had ever before in such a short time, and eventually a break was called.  
“You're doing great,” everyone told him. Everyone except the photographer, Charles only felt his eyes on him, following him from the darkness, hiding just away from the blinding lights.   
“Great, thanks. I'm not really a model, so it's really nice to hear that I don't look rubbish.”  
“You don't, at all,” he was told, he was powdered and handed a cup of coffee and a sandwich. 

Another set was being built, Charles was having his sandwich and a new ensemble was being set out for him. He let his eyes wonder around the area, as he munched, until he felt a presence to his right.   
The languid figure was leaning on the door frame, inspecting him. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, a cigarette in other, hands crossed over his broad chest, chin down, eyes on Charles.   
“Are you happy with my performance?” Charles turned his charm on again.  
He got a cool, crooked smile as a response. “Delighted.”   
Charles nodded. “Grand.”  
They kept staring at each other, one smiling a crooked smile, one nodding silly.  
Charles's attention was demanded to the make-up.  
“Let me know as soon as you're ready to continue,” the photographer said softly and disappeared.  
“Five minutes, max,” Charles shouted after him but it felt too loud after all that smoothness.  
“How do you feel working with him?” the stylist inquired while checking, well, everything.  
“How do I- Well, I suppose I feel just fine. He gives very good directions. I suppose I deliver because he does not seem cross with me.”  
“A lot of people say he's difficult to work with. The way he communicates.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah, you will notice. But it is because he is only interested in a good picture, nothing else. He is not a bad person.”  
“That's a curious thing to say about someone.”  
The stylist laughed. “I suppose. But you'll see.” She stepped back. “As far as I'm concerned, you're ready now. So if you're done with your lunch-”  
Charles gulped the rest of his coffee – he hadn't realized how much whiskey he had actually drunk before the coffee. Not tipsy no, but there definitely was a nice buzz. No wonder he didn't doubt his skills for a second.

Charles walked into the set; the photographer was sitting on a wooden chest, seemingly submerged into his thoughts. There was a massive studio camera next to him, with the frame resting against his thigh. He was absentmindedly caressing the frame, a cigarette fuming on his other hand.   
“I'm here,” Charles declared happily.  
“Come sit with me,” the photographer motioned towards the leather couch, keeping his gaze still on the floor.  
Charles walked carefully over the lights and cables, sat down, hands together and raised eyebrows waiting for the next command.  
“I... I think you guys should go take a break now,” the photographer said in his soft voice. “I'll call you when I need you. Take thirty at least.”   
Charles watched everybody leave without asking any questions, without any comments or noise. As the studio door softly clicked after them the only sound was the photographer's cigarette as he sucked on it.  
“I don't think I introduced myself,” he then said, turned to put the cigarette out on the ashtray next to him and then lifted his ice-cold stare to meet Charles's. He extended his hand. “I'm Erik Lehnsherr.”  
“Charles Xavier,” Charles shook it. “Nice to meet you.”  
Erik smiled shortly. “What kind of a writer are you, Charles?” He leaned back, leaned his weight on his hands. He was sitting taut yet relaxed, slightly sideways to Charles; legs apart, chest open and turned to Charles, chin high and gazing through his long eyelashes the man seemed to emanate some kind of understated superiority from every single cell of his being.  
Charles shrugged. “A mediocre one passing for a good one, I guess.”  
Erik smiled wide, slow. “Passing for a good one.”  
“Yeah, faking it 'til I'm making it,” Charles tried again, with a bigger smile.  
“I see.” Erik just inspected him with that creepy wide smile on his face.  
Charles leaned against the back of the couch, rested his head, wiggled his fit frame into the leather.  
“Would you like to have some more whiskey or another cigar?” Erik offered, didn't move a muscle.  
“Whiskey would be good, it was really good.”  
“Yeah, it was.” Erik still didn't move, just stared.  
Charles frowned, played with his cufflinks some more. “How many pictures do you think you will take?”  
“As many as I need.” Now Erik did budge, he got up on his long legs and seemed to glide in a way towards the darkness.  
“I've understood there is a strong sexual undercurrent in your writing, Mr Xavier,” he said.  
“So they say,” Charles replied. “Have you read any of my books?”  
Erik slid back with two glasses of whiskey in his hand; offered one to Charles, chinked the glasses together and returned to the wooden chest. He turned and sat down on the edge, legs again wide apart, elbows resting on knees. He moved his hands as if framing something as he formed his following statement, blatantly ignoring Charles's question. “My entire crew was all about how...charged and...hot your texts are. How the plot twists and thickens and surprises and enthralls and all that, but the running theme in the reactions to your writing was that they are very erotic.”   
Charles said nothing, he wanted to see where Erik was going with this.  
“So,” Erik leaned back to rest on one elbow, displaying his entire long figure to Charles, eyes again piercing him. He sipped his whiskey. “I always find artists, of any trade, to be exhibitionists of varying degree.”  
He kept staring at Charles, prying out a reaction. Charles himself was very present in the moment, he lift his chin and narrowed his eyes, twisted his mouth, said nothing.  
Erik smiled, obviously pleased the way Charles called his provocation. “In your writing, do you rather reveal or conceal your true self?”  
Charles laughed.  
“I am not sure what you mean, Mr Lehnsherr.”  
“I think you do know what I am talking about.”  
Charles shook his head, sipping his drink. “No, I don't.”  
Erik narrowed his eyes.   
Charles gazed back.   
Erik sat up.  
“I'd like to shoot you naked.”  
Charles laughed, taken aback. “You'd what?”  
“Naked.” Erik gulped down the rest of his drink and stood up.  
“If your texts are as charged as they appear to be, I think a nude would be ideal.” He turned his head, looking down at Charles along his shoulder. “That carries the same idea of revealing and concealing your true self at the same time.” He stretched out his hand, Charles threw the rest of his drink down his throat as he realized Erik was waiting for the glass.   
“In a nude,” Erik started towards the dark, “you show absolutely everything you are, yet people see only your nudity. Do you understand what I mean?”   
Charles nodded. It was like in his writing, he could discuss his darkest thoughts and put them into words that the audience read only as their entertainment. They saw his words as catering to their needs and thirst for excitement, seeing Charles's reality as a makeshift construction of non-existent pleasures, crafted only for them, never realizing nor reaching the flesh and blood Charles crafted the words from.  
He stood up. “What kind of a setting you have in mind?”


	2. “You're here to fool us/ I’m here to take shots “

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is from M.I.A.  
> The songs played in this chapter are   
> Goldfrapp - Train  
> Zebra Katz ft. Njena Reddd Roxxx – Ima read

“You can leave the clothes on the chair. I will shoot you standing.”  
Charles refuses to blink. Erik has turned his back on him, fiddling with the cameras.  
Charles starts to pull on his ascot.  
“Hold on.”  
The lights flash.  
“Go on.”  
Charles narrows his eyes. So this is how it is going to be.  
He leaves the scarf around his neck, undone, partly under the collar, the ends resting limp on his chest.  
He grabs the jacket collar, lifts them up – flash – and then pulls them to the sides, opening his chest to viewing – flash – and stretching his arms lets it slide down, keeping his eyes on Erik, who has now turned again. Flash.  
Charles sees a flash of a grin in the dark as well. Flash. Did Charles smirk himself? He does feel pretty pleased with himself.  
He lets the jacket fall on the floor, nevermind it was Tom Ford, nevermind. He keeps his eyes in Erik's. I accept your challenge then.  
He notices the background music the moment he starts to move to it.   
Plastic brain scar, I want laser.  
“Oh god stop right there,” Erik moans. What a surprising sound to get from him, Charles thinks. “This is horrible. Hold it right there.”  
Charles feels disappointed, and a bit embarrassed as well. Was it really that bad?  
Erik shows another surprising feature of himself, he explains himself. “I don't want a striptease. Not that kind, not here anyway.”  
Charles raises his eyebrow, Erik does not miss it – flash! - even though he is browsing the playlist on his phone.  
“Wrong atmosphere. I want it cool.”  
Charles nods.   
“Are you OK with it?”   
Charles nods. “This is the first time you tell me what you want.”  
“I have been telling you the whole time.”  
“Not the mood, you have just been ordering me around.”  
Erik lifts his eyes to Charles and smiles. “And you don't like that?”  
Charles squirms and smiles. Flash. “Not particularly.” Flash. “I feel like you're not giving me enough information. I prefer to know the mood I'm supposed to portray. Now I feel like I just stand here dressed fancy.”  
“I see.” Erik puts the phone back in his pocket and gets down on one knee. “We're going to fix that now, aren't we.” He adjusts the focus, Charles turns – left is my good side, isn't it – flash, “I haven't given you more because I prefer seeing what you give me.”  
The music starts again, it is a pounding monotonic rhythm. Charles turns to Erik, raising his eyebrow. “So this is what you want?”  
Flash. Erik ignores his question. “Roll up your sleeves.”  
I'mma uh that bitch, the song repeats mantra-like over the pounding beat.  
Charles frowns and takes off the cufflink. I'mma give him mood then. Flash. He drops the cufflink on the floor. The other one he rips off, flash. He gazes up from he sleeves he's working on to Erik. Flash. He starts rolling them.  
“Hold it.”  
Erik gets up and pulls another camera that is already on a stand to stand left from Charles. He peeks quickly through it, flash, and moves just as swiftly to the other side of Charles and pulls another camera to stand on that side. Charles follows his moves with his eyes, frozen still.  
Erik laughs shortly to him. “Thank you for that.” Flash.  
“OK go on.”  
Erik has stepped back, he's holding something in his hand that apparently makes all the cameras take a picture when he wants even though he's not there for them.   
Charles is impressed although curious on how focused the shots will be. He starts to roll the sleeves again.  
“No,” Erik interrupts again. “Pull them down.” Flash. “Open the shirt.”  
Charles lifts his chin and starts on the scarf.   
“Leave that.” Flash.  
He starts to open the buttons. One, flash, second, flash, he begins the third one. “Hold it. Turn. Tilt your head. Like this.” Erik comes from the shadows and grabs Charles's chin.  
This is the first time he has actually touched Charles. He is left standing in front of Charles, frowning.   
“Not good?” Charles aids.  
“No.” Erik tilts his head. “Something is not right.”  
He reaches for Charles's hair and messes it up, takes a step back.  
“That's better.” He turns. “I don't like it too sleek.”  
“I don't like it easy, I don't like it the straight way,” Charles quotes.  
Erik laughs. “Exactly. Now take it off your shoulders.”  
Charles does what he's told to. Flash. “Play with the cuffs again. Eyes on me.” Flash. “I like the challenge in your eyes.” Flash. “Is that enough information for you?” Flash.  
Charles is laughing. Flash. “Better.”  
Flash. “Eyes to the right.” Flash. “Not to the camera.” Flash.   
“Now take the whole thing off.” Flash. “Wrap it around your neck.” Flash. “Not like that.”  
Erik comes close to him again, takes the shirt from Charles and grabs is from the collar, and with one violent move shakes the shirt straight again. Then he grabs it from the middle and with very abrupt moves wraps it around Charles's neck, and turns the shirt into a big, ruffled and brutal bowtie. Charles does his best to stand in his place with the tugs around his neck, Erik pulling and pushing him around, standing very close to him. Charles can smell Erik's cologne. Hugo Boss? Dior? Erik himself?  
“Like so.” Erik disappears from his side again.   
Charles frowns. “What now?” Flash.  
“That.” Flash flash flash.


	3. “The chic shall inherit the Earth”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter:  
> Salem - Trapdoor  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EiTuyt8y7g

Charles is now standing in front of Erik stark naked. He's standing upright, legs shoulder width, arms behind his back, right hand loosely holding left elbow. He tilts his head to the side and back and is beginning to like all the attention and intensity Erik is giving him. He feels really good about the shoot now; the clothes weren't his, nor was the fuss around him, but this, this he knows.  
Erik lets the frames burn, so to speak. He is still using all the three cameras on stands, but he is now all cat-like moving around Charles with a fourth one, all taut limbs and tension.   
Charles looks at him, looks away, looks at the cameras, moves his arms around him, changes postures. Chin up, chin down. Erik does not interrupt.  
The music has changed again. It is a menacing, grim, slow heavy beats and a blurred rap line all over the dark mass of it. Charles feels the energy seep into him through his skin and he begins to feel larger, somehow darker, more muscular, more menacing, primal.   
From the corner of his eye he catches Erik smiling almost horrifyingly wide, eyes sparkling.  
The charm breaks, Charles laughs and lets his pose drop.   
“What? What? Don't stop!” Erik is lying on the floor on his back.  
Charles laughs and gestures with his hand, can't really explain.  
“Is this really working?”  
“You look amazing, love.” Erik rolls to his side, propping his head against his hand.   
Love? Maybe he calls everybody that. Fashion people are always so touchy-feely.  
“You should see the frames, they are fantastic.”  
“Really?” Charles has his hands on his hips, he's swaying a little. “I'd really like to see them, I have no clue what I am doing here.”  
“You're making magic, that's what.”  
They look at each other, mutual respect, awe, slight confusion somewhere.  
“We can take a look at them after this, if you'd like,” Erik suggests.  
“Yeah, that would be great.”  
“Good.”  
Erik is really comfortable with silences, with naked men standing in front of him, it seems. Charles smiles politely but is beginning to feel a bit silly. The song's over.  
“I have another idea.”   
“Oh?”  
“Do you mind getting yourself a little bit dirty? Or, quite a lot.”  
Charles shrugs. “No, what do you have in mind?”  
Erik lifts the camera again and shoots randomly at Charles's direction, then he jumps up. “Hold on.”  
He goes on to the back and let's Charles hang out at the set all alone. The lights do keep him warm but Charles is not sure if he should be less comfortable all naked here. He doesn't seem to mind and that reaction intrigues him.  
Erik comes back carrying a few jars, they sit down on the studio floor as Erik spreads his gifts for Charles to see.  
“I have oil here, and ink, and some colored powders. I'd love to mix some of them to create textures on your skin, then take pictures throwing the powder on you. But I'd love you to look really greasy and like you just crawled from the subconscious of mankind”  
“Crawl from the subconscious...?”  
Erik laughs.  
“Yeah, I'm not sure where that came from.”  
“No, it's good, it's good... I like the idea.” Charles inspects the jars. “What do I do with them now?”  
“Well you could-” Erik clears his throat and starts again. Charles does not miss it, though. “You start painting yourself with the oil and the paints, hold on I'll get them as well.” Erik jumps into the backroom again.  
Charles follows him with his eyes and smiles. I've got you now. The front you give everybody, where you tell them what to do and intimidate them into submission with your collectedness, that's only a facade. You're an excited child with fingerpaints underneath that turtleneck.  
Erik comes back, he has a jar of black bodypaint with him and he passes it to Charles.   
“Mix that with oil and it'll make some really cool...” Erik gestures. “Shapes, I suppose.”  
Charles nods to him and inspects the jars. I can't believe I am a grown man and doing this. Next we'll play doctors I bet.  
“But wait, I need to adjust the lights.”  
Charles is crouched over the jars, Erik makes the studio dimmer and takes the cameras with their stands away. He is moving around the studio quickly, but not hastily, at times coming closer to Charles to squint and then gliding away to change something.   
Then, finally, he comes back with something that would appear to be his favorite camera and sits in front of Charles.  
“Now then.”  
Charles just looks at him expectantly.   
“Pull your hair forward,” Erik guides. “Weight on your left leg. Right knee forward, unless you want to show your junk to the world.”  
Charles laughs. “I though I already did.”  
“Oh, didn't I mention?” Erik's smile knows full well he didn't. “I shot you only waist up.”  
“Really?” Charles is a bit disappointed, not sure why, though.  
“Yes.”  
“Why did I have to be completely naked then?”  
“As you see, the energy is completely different. The way you pose, how you relaxed.” Erik goes behind his camera again.  
Charles has to agree with that.  
Erik smiles at him when he fixes the zoom. “Or actually, only the cameras on stands were waist-up. I did shoot you all the way.”   
“Oh.”  
Erik clears his throat again. “Mix the oil and the paint on your other hand, do not pull your hair back under any circumstances, and on my mark start applying the paint to your face.”  
Oh, here's the photographer-Erik again. He puts the same song on again.

Charles does what he is told.


	4. “Bitch watch me take a shower, put powder on your butt “

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sculpture that is mentioned can be found here: https://roadtrippers.com/blog/lilith-is-one-of-the-spookiest-sculptures-in-america
> 
> The title is from Salem's song from the previous chapter

“Come and take a look,” Erik turns the back of the camera to Charles, flipping through the pictures. Charles squints. There's that Erik scent again.  
“Look at your eyes in this one, you remind me of that statue of Lilith, you know that now?”  
Charles does. It is haunting, and yes, he does have that.   
Erik takes a closer look at the picture. “Extraordinary.”  
Charles inspects the curve of Erik's neck, his ear and meticulous haircut. It is slightly odd to stand so close to someone so... clothed.   
“Truly remarkable,” Erik says more to himself than Charles. Then he seems to snap out of it. “Right. I should get you a robe or something, and we need to get you to a shower. Unless of course if you want to keep that look,” Erik smirks to Charles over his shoulder.  
“Well, as nice and comfortable as it is...”  
“Yes, certainly.” Erik turns on his heels and marches to the backroom. “I'll give you my robe, and you can get cleaned up at my place. You get to see the preliminary frames then as well.”  
“Oh that would be very kind of you.” Charles is not sure if he can leave his spot on the stage, so he just shifts weight around, sliding his hands on his skin. He's dripping oil and black paint, his hair is slicked back with it, he probably has eaten quite a lot of it as well. Lilith then, creature of the night. Refusing to be subservient to any man. Why not.  
Erik arrives with a black silk robe, some towels, and oddly enough, woolly socks.   
“Here.” He helps the robe on Charles, hands him one towel and starts to rub the excess oil out of his hair. Charles wipes his face and hands.  
“You were really good today, I am grateful.” Erik murmurs. “And impressed.”  
“Oh?” Charles is pleased his odd discomfort has not been in vain.  
“I have a few more ideas for you but I bet you want to take a shower and have dinner first.”  
“Yeah, that would be great.” Charles feels a bit like a wet dog. A ferocious and sexy dog, but a wet one.  
“Sit, please,” Erik guides Charles to a chair, starts wiping the paint of his legs and then helps the socks on him. Charles watches Erik on his knees between his legs, working for his comfort. Why not. “If you are not in too much of a rush, I's like to offer you the services of the bathroom of my house and a dinner.”  
“I am completely free. I was not sure how long this would take.”  
“Brilliant,” Erik smiles and then is away again. Charles is left to dab his face. “I will call the assistants to clear this shoot, but as soon as you have gathered your belongings, we are ready to leave.”  
“Oh, alright.”


	5. “Just cause the game is up doesn't mean I didn't win.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tropic of Cancer – the Dull Age  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xa68w_gsLfw  
> Tropic of Cancer – Victims  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nsFjykjMpc

Erik drives a Mercedes-Benz, naturally. The coupé carries the same sense of minimalistic taut efficiency as its driver.  
Charles feels more comfortable than he would have expected to: He's sitting on the passenger's seat of a very expensive car that is driven by one of the most acclaimed contemporary photographers, wearing long woolly socks under his own brown boots, a silk robe, liters of oil and paint and his own scruffy leather coat. He has a towel turban around his head and he feels a slither of black paint making its way down his neck. He's going to leave some mark on this man's life, some way or another, no matter how many towels there are under him on the seat.  
Charles has let all his guards down, the photo shoot was so intense as an experience that he feels drained but a warm, pleased glow is there in his stomach. Lilith. Exactly what he was trying to convey in his books. He relaxed against the luxurious leather covered by the towels.

The music Erik is playing in the car is haunting, monotonous. It reminds Charles of mausoleums, hallways, gray photographs of times that have passed. Not the warm sepia-colored ones, but the odd slices of time, cuts of moments that have been someone's life and are now long forgotten.  
The song ends with long notes played by cello, or so Charles assumes.   
The sound is peculiar, just like the man who is playing it to him. It does carry a tone of silent, still happiness, that there were pleasant times but that there is a soft sadness from the fact that the person holding the picture in their hands will never know any details of it. That they have missed something intimate and beautiful.  
“What band is this?”   
Erik passes him a CD cover without taking his eyes of the road. “Tropic of Cancer.”   
Charles looks at the cover; it is a monochrome picture of large roses, with a tied up women lying on her side on top of them. “The album's called the End of All Things,” Erik glances into Charles's eyes, looking grimly amused. “Apt, isn't it.”  
Charles smiles shortly and turns his eyes back to the window. The CD cover rests on his lap.  
The world outside is as gray as a picture; the buildings, the sky, the sleet. The eyes of the man sitting next to him. Weren't they blue? Charles frowns and tries to remember. All he could feel was the coolness of them. Ice like the top of a melting mountain.  
He squirms deeper into his leather coat. It is a massive sheep-skin one, he's inherited it from some uncle or another and decided it was horrible enough to serve its two main purposes: to protect him from the world and to confirm the image of a tormented artist.  
“Are you cold?” Erik frowns in turn and quickly checks all the settings of the system between them.  
“No, I'm fine,” Charles replies hastily, drowsy.   
Erik nods shortly. “It won't be much longer now.”  
“I don't mind.” Charles's eyes close. “I'm reaaally comfortable here.”  
Erik flashes a smile to his closed lids. It really has been a pleasure, shooting this man.   
Erik moves his eyes back to the road, taps the steering wheel, Victims is playing. He wonders how far he could walk Charles into the realm of his visions.  
He sees metal, more ink perhaps, masks. Sculpture-like situations. But are they suitable for a shoot for a magazine? Or are they for his next exhibition, or a book? Could he use a model that has a familiar face to the world? Or could he just hide it, with the masks?  
Erik rubs his jaw. Charles has the perfect combination of energies within him. Innocence, warm humor, a welcoming, open heart. And also the primal edge of immensity, power. And the perfect body to convey those forces, and the perfect face for it.  
Erik steals another glance at the man sitting next to him. Or slouching, more likely, right now. He is probably asleep.   
But the force of his thighs, and the build of his shoulders... Erik gets wild ideas, or various kinds.  
He needs to pay attention to the traffic. There is a dinner to be planned as well.


	6. “plant toxic bombs in marble tombs”

Charles leans his hands against the dark marble walls and lets the water flow on his aching neck.   
“Do clear my head please,” he says quietly to himself, to the shower, mouth wide open water pouring from the sides of his face, across his lips.  
Erik's bathroom is very much like expected – dark, exquisite, neat. The towels he provided Charles with are thick, furiously white and soft.  
It all carries a sense of indifference, certain nonchalance. Like Erik has picked the best available because that requires the least bit of effort, no time wasted on pondering such insignificant matters. Also – the choices are intimidating enough to not raise any further inquiries. The least personal, the most difficult to read. Showing the minimum to delete any assumptions.  
Charles turns his head slowly from side to side, to let the water wash away the paint.   
Erik had told him not to worry about the possible stains on the walls or carpet, but Charles does worry. Even the bathroom carpet was impeccably white, impersonal, passive and thick.  
He takes the Balmain shampoo and lathers it generously around. This does explain the delicate scent Erik walks around with to a degree, but not all of it.  
The shower gel is Dior Homme, following the same monochrome, minimalistic line. Another part of the scent cracked.  
Charles lifts his chin and thoroughly enjoys the hot water washing all over his body. He starts to feel rejuvenated, but does not want to leave the comfortable silence of no one's company.   
Erik is quite a puzzle. He does extravagant art, and is both well-known and widely acclaimed. Yet he has managed to keep himself in the blind spot of the public. He is always present, when something important happens, documenting it, laying it bare, and now that Charles has met him, he has no doubt that Erik has been one of the instigators of the happening, of the change. Yet no one seems to know any further details than his liking of YSL turtlenecks, the strong jawline and dry wit. Wit? He mainly seems just incredibly dry.  
Charles rests his chin now against his chest. When did his neck become so stiff? The years of writing, the years of reading, or the last few nights spent in very awkward positions on people's couches? Charles has always been very social, thirsty for stories and knowledge; this leads him constantly on people's couches, beds, sometimes cars. He rubs his elbows, there are a few of his favorite scars. This time there are no fresh scabs.   
He feels the quietness in this house. It has its secrets, but they are not bleeding or hostile. They tell him in the most polite way possible to mind his own business. He will be served and initiated in due time, if he is seen worthy.  
Charles switches the shower off. Food would be great now.


	7. “Offering itself in flickers”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:  
> Liturgy - Generation  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58MsAmbQURM

Erik is fixing decanter by the window when Charles steps into the kitchen.  
“The shower was amazing, thank you!” Charles starts. “I didn't realize how straining the posing was until I got to relax, phew.” He swings his body on a bar stool by the marble island in the middle of the kitchen.   
Erik turns to him and smiles. “The water pressure is great, isn't it? I did the plumbing myself.” He pours wine in two glasses. “I hope red wine is fine for you?”   
“Sure, love it.”  
Erik walks around the marble to offer Charles a glass.  
“Should we drink to something?” Charles asks, smiling, eyes in Erik's.  
“Art?” Erik's eyes smile back at him.  
“As good a reason as any.”  
They drink.  
“I am terribly sorry for the weirdness of the dinner.”  
“Oh?” Charles turns to look at the tray on the island. There is a huge three storey metal tray, it is practically a smörgåsbord of smörgåsbord.  
“I tend to forget that I don't really keep much supplies for dinners at house, so this is... what I found.”  
“You got twelve types of sushi, at least three kinds of pancakes, I don't even recognize all those nuts... and what are those? Cakes?”  
“They're raw cakes. And over there are pieces of raw chocolate.” Erik goes into detail but most of them just escape Charles's attention. Shit this is going to be a weird meal. “And everything is gluten-free.” Erik turns his gaze back to Charles and smiles.   
Charles pulls his eyes from Erik's arm that he leans on. Veins! “That's great, right? Supposed to be good for you.”  
Erik looks back at the tray. “Supposed to be.” And back to Charles. “And not everything tastes like grass or poo.”  
Charles lifts his eyebrow.   
“C'mon, give it a shot. That's all we got for now, anyway.” Erik picks up the tray. “Please, through here.”

Erik leads Charles to a room that is completely different from all the three rooms he has seen so far – that is if you count the hallway as a room. Erik seems to share his house very sparingly. Everything up until here has been clean, impeccable, sterile, stern. This room is a massive library with huge leather armchairs, soft lighting from carefully placed lamps – and candles even! - and a huge window opening to the snowy backyard. The light of day is fading fast, and seems to be only waiting for Erik to pull the heavy red velvet curtains over its futile efforts.  
“Wow.”  
“You like it?” Erik places the tray on a low, heavy wooden table. There were already two trays just like it there, plates, napkins, and again, candles, and very carefully Erik sets the tray amidst all that.  
Charles sits on the leather chair, eyes on the bookshelves. There is a spiral staircase on the side of the room so that you could access the tops of the bookshelves that go all the way up to the ceiling; the room has two storeys but the middle part is left open and wide – maybe it is renovated to form one high room instead of two floors?  
“I have renovated most of this place myself,” Erik sits next to Charles, picks up a plate. He is obviously very pleased with himself although he does his best to downplay it. “What would you like to have?”  
“You choose, I have no idea what most of them are.” Erik's gaze is traveling dreamily over the walls. “I want to read everything in here.”  
“You're welcome to.” Erik picks a selection of sushi to Charles. “I'm not sure if there is enough ginger, I am sorry.”  
“I'm sure it is perfect, thank you.” Charles accepts the plate and a minute later also the soy sauce Erik has mixed the wasabi in. He is now well catered for. “So you made the house like this – what was it before?”  
“There were some factories here, workshops.” Erik picks for himself a variety of salads and odd pieces of other things Charles remembers to be raw. “I bought the entire building since I wanted space for my work. I liked the area so I changed this part of the house to serve as my home.”  
“You liked the area? There's no one here! Just storage houses.”  
Erik leans back on his chair and locks Charles's gaze. “Exactly.”  
Charles laughs. “No one will hear you scream.”  
Erik smiles.  
Charles is not sure if he should be nervous.  
“Thanks for the clothes, though.” He changes the subject. “I have no idea where I managed to lose mine.”  
“No problem. I see that they fit.”  
“Well they are a bit long for me-”  
“But fit nice and tight.”  
“Yeah, I guess. If you're into that kind of thing.”  
“Mm.”  
Charles eats another piece of sushi. It is perfect, delicious, and definitely fresh. Wasabi burns his palate almost unbearably but is actually deliciously painful, not too much.  
“What was the music you played in the kitchen?”  
“Oh back there?” Erik glances at the now-closed door.  
“Yeah, what you turned off really quickly when I arrived.  
“Oh that.” Erik takes his time to finish his mouthful.  
“It was Liturgy.”  
“Liturgy?”  
“Yeah. It is a relatively recent black metal band.” Erik locks his eyes again with Charles. Is he testing me? “They play something that they call 'Transcendental Black Metal'.”  
Charles laughs. “That sounds quite pretentious.”  
Erik laughs with him. “Doesn't it. But they have interesting points.”  
“I haven't listened to a lot of black metal. Do tell me more.” Charles really does not give a fuck, but he takes a more comfortable position to listen to Erik talk. It means to lean back, lift the other ankle to rest on the other knee, turn his body facing Erik, and to drink more wine. Not just the black cashmere shirt (thank god not a turtleneck) is tight, the lamb wool pants are too. Enjoy, Erik.  
The change in position does not escape Erik's attention.  
“I like the unforgiving nature of black metal. How it goes relentlessly for the extremes and does not accept anything less than the ultimate.“  
“I see.”  
“It is a very physical genre of music as well. Not just sonically, although when you listen to it, the sheer force of the sound affects your body. Makes it tremble. Clench. To use your muscles just to endure. But black metal also encompasses an entire aesthetic framework, a way of living.”  
“A very brutal way of living, I've understood.”  
Erik ignores that remark.  
“I appreciate how black metal does not aim for pleasing anyone else but the artists themselves. A very simple yet difficult project to express and convey something that quite possibly only you can accept wholly and give value to.”  
Charles nods.  
“Black metal musicians actively choose to act against norms.” Erik seems lit up now, his hands slice the air as he emphasizes his views. “Choose to live against norms, outside them. Some might say above them.”  
Charles tilts his head.   
“There have always been borders, and naturally there will always be extremes following that. Extremes in art, in life, in everything. What is seen ordinary, what is accepted, and what goes beyond. What is considered unthinkable, against the very nature. To me what is great about black metal is... That these people are willing to discard all that. To deny everything else but the very demanding, harsh set of aesthetics that they see necessary in order to be true to themselves. A very demanding framework through which they can express themselves, in a sense disconnect yet discuss – I see great value in that. It is beneficial to everyone. When we push the boundaries further, when we go for the extremes, we do not only learn that the previous extreme was nothing compared to what we see in the horizon - we also create and allow more space in the middle. We create more room to breathe. We create more possibilities. To exist, to create, to live.”  
Charles nods again. It is fascinating to see Erik so full of life, so full of passion. Charles licks his lips.  
“Do you not think it is a draining way to live?  
Erik blinks.  
“To refuse all that is accepted and... easily accessed, safe. To practically sacrifice your...everyday life, you could say you, to create and reach something that most people will never understand?”  
Erik leans back in his chair and picks up another mouthful, shrugs. “Perhaps.”  
“It seems to matter to you a lot.”  
Erik shrugs. “I enjoy everything that is done properly.”  
“Why did you turn the music off, when I arrived?”  
“I rarely torment people around me with it.”   
“Yeah, I suppose most people are into Lady Gaga these days. Whom I personally find to be a burp from the nineties.”  
Erik smiles.  
“Yeah, extreme metal fits as a backdrop to disappointingly few photoshoots. I have received some quite gnarly feedback.”  
“So you do consider the feelings of others, after all.”  
“To a degree.” Erik sips his wine. “Who says I don't?”  
“I was warned about you.”  
Erik smiles. Is that a cold smile? Or is he amused? “I see.”  
“I do find them wrong.”  
“Do you.”  
Charles takes a chance. “I think you are putting up a facade.”  
“I think you are taking your blades to a very thin crust of ice.”  
“C'mon Erik, we both know better.” Charles sips his wine, looks at Erik over the brim. “You have challenged me today and it certainly is my turn.”  
Erik nods. “Fine.”  
“But you did not answer my question.”  
“I didn't realize there was one.”  
“Of course you didn't. Could you pass me more of whatever those are?”  
Erik pours generously maple syrup over the pancakes. “These are made of sweet potato, chick peas and almond flour.”   
“Cool-io. More wine as well, please.... Cheers.”  
Charles sits back again. The food definitely is delicious. He might be throwing it up later on, though. A thought of wondering how he will be going back home from here passes through his thoughts but he watches it go.  
“So, the facade. I see through it.”  
“Do you now.” Erik seems amused now, good.  
“You build up this system of marble and metal to show to the world-”  
“What makes you think I am not all marble and metal?”  
“...yeah. But there is so much more in you. Warmth. Softness. Care.”  
Erik drinks silently, eyes on Charles.  
Maybe this is enough. “But you go then. If you are marble and metal, what do you think I am made of? You said you had some ideas.”  
“I'd love to see you in wolf skin and dirt.”  
Charles evades. “Dirt?”  
“Yes. You represent all things purely natural to me right now.”  
Charles raises an eyebrow. Wine.  
“Natural in a sense: from the nature. A force of nature. Earth. Roots. Primal. First, true, pure things.” Erik leans his elbows on his knees.  
“Maybe you should be the writer here,” Charles suggests.  
“Would you operate the cameras then?”  
“I'd definitely be willing to give it a shot.”  
They stare at each other and smile.  
“The man behind Liturgy and the whole idea of transcendental black metal has said that there is a fundamental connection between the good and the beautiful.”  
“Do you agree?”  
“At the moment, I can't see anything proving him wrong.”


	8. “Covered by the blind belief/ that fantasies of sinful screens-”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The documentary mentioned: http://www.exposedmovie.com/  
> Some of the music played: Portishead – Dummy http://youtu.be/c6Rvde1YeLE  
> Other music played: Charles Mingus – Blues & Roots https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9KcMfQhn6w

“Science fiction has the same openness, the same lack of borders and expectations like, say, comics have. It is marginal and has the possibility to be countercultural... Or just has more possibilities in general. At least in theory.”  
Erik fills Charles's glass. It is his turn to listen to passions.  
“Yeah, if my fiction was set in some contemporary, realistic part of this world, I... don't know. Or actually I do.” Charles laughs shortly. “I could have of course written whatever mainstream-y and challenge all the expectations and assumptions it has... But I did not want to go against all the obstacles. My point would have been missed. I could have also just written something openly queer, place my fiction straight away into that framework and cultural setting... But I felt that it would always be seen as just that – queer something. And it would have been so much less likely to go anywhere else beyond that. Do you know what I mean? Like an important... all female rock band. You know what I mean?”  
Erik nods.  
“That it would have been seen like decades from now as something important to a subcategory of humankind. And I did not want that for my text. I did not want it to be appreciated and important in just one... scene. Because it should be read by other people, not the members of the group. I do care about them but I also do not care about them, in a way. They already get the joke.”  
Erik finishes his glass of wine. “You have ambition.”  
“Yes, definitely. I do not want to be embarrassed about it, although everything around me tells me I should be. I should be afraid to be successful, popular. Honest. But I want to accomplish things. Not for my own good, not just my for my own benefit. Not popular or accomplished like that.”  
“I completely get it.”  
“Yes. I willingly admit it to you. I did choose science fiction as my genre because I could reach a wider audience than just contemporary queers. In science fiction I could delete the entire question of maleness, femaleness, queerness, and discuss the personalities and choices rather than create this expectation of romantic tension. Which there certainly is, but you're not sure who and what and where and why.”  
Erik smiles into his drink. “I see.”  
“Mmm.” Charles taps the rim of his glass with his fingers. He's lazily sprawled all over the armchair. “Do you know anything about neo-burlesque?”  
“I am aware of it, yes.”  
“I'm not going to go into further detail about it, but I love it. And I saw this documentary about the neo-burlesque scene in New York... I kind of stole their ideas. Or I was very influenced by them, as I should say. But in any case, under the pretense of entertainment, these artists can get away with stuff. They can make really strong political statements about sex, gender, religion... You name it. Just by othering a phenomenon, adding glitter, making it fun... They can discuss such a variety of topics, and portray the ridiculousness and arbitrariness of so many social constructions.”  
Erik tilts his head, stares at the wall and ponders.   
“In the documentary, one of the legends in that scene Tigger! said something about it. About the power of laughter. Once you have their mouths gaping open wide from the laughter you can shove anything down their throats.”  
Erik grins. “I like that idea.”  
“I bet you do.” Charles sips his drink again. “But that is something I aim for. “  
“Entertainment and change.”  
“Overthrowing the government with all the queer power there is.”  
Erik grins and nods. To the music, too. He had almost forgotten how great Portishead's debut was.  
Charles breaks his buzz. “I'm not sure yet what your story is, but it not like you are completely peacefully straight edge here.”  
“Mmm.” Erik feels his pulse quicken but he keeps his demeanor calm. There are things he does not find to be Charles's business. Focus on the music.  
“Do you feel you need to hide things?”  
“I do not see you particularly declaring yourself, either. At least out there.”  
“Because it should not be anybody's business. This is where my ambitions lie. I want to make it normal. Ordinary. Right now it is like it is a form of entertainment or a maxim to evaluate someone. I want to make it so bland it is not even a topic of discussion.”  
“You want to make it boring.”  
“I do.”  
“But sex never is.”  
“Sometimes it is, you have to admit that.”  
Erik's smile is crooked. “The problems is though, that sex sells. And people are interested in it.”  
“This is true.”  
“Regular human beings are curious about abominations.” It is Erik's turn to see the situation about the ice.  
“Abominations. Ah, yes. What a choice of words.”  
“Isn't it.”  
“Could it be, that everybody always wants what they can not have. “  
“Quite a generalization.” Erik turns on his seat, rests his head on his hand, looks at Charles.  
“There's a sense of danger. A sense of fear that makes it interesting. What you can not have, what you do not know, or even know about, it is mesmerizing and intriguing. Exciting. That excitement can easily be mixed with sexual tension. Or can be related to it, why not.”   
“Danger is arousing, is that what you are saying.”  
“Yes. That is what I am saying.”  
“I see.”  
“I have a very unpopular opinion, actually. Related to this.”  
“Tell me.”  
“I understand the popularity of 50 shades of Grey.”  
“You like to be spanked?”  
“It's not that.” (I see what you did there) “I understand it with a certain level of sadness.”  
“Sadness?”  
“This might need a little bit of explanation as a background.”  
Erik leans over to pour them another round. “Then explain.”  
“I most definitely understand and mostly agree with the criticism the book series has received, but there must be a reason why it is so popular.”   
“Which makes it an interesting phenomenon.”  
“Exactly. First, I didn't give a flying fuck about it, and I was mainly amused about how big a deal it seemed to be to people. I was once in a café in a bookstore – have you ever been to Iceland? What a brilliant idea they have of enjoying life – they have cafés in bookstores, you can read all the magazines there while you're having coffee, just put them back when you're done!”  
Erik raises an eyebrow.  
“But I have strayed now. What was my point.”  
“Sex.”  
“Yes, sex. So there was this lady, in her forties, I think, and she came to sit to the same table as I did, laid her latte on the table and whipped – pun intended – thanks – her book out. She looked so smug and pleased with herself and absolutely every single fiber in her being was stating that this is her quality time that she declares for herself. That she is making a statement, and that statement is sex-positive and pleasure-positive. Perhaps not as academic or self-conscious an act as I am making it now, but her... Her joy was immense. She was enjoying herself. She was in active contact with pleasure. Stress here on the word 'active'.”   
“You are placing quite a lot of meaning into one lady drinking latte and reading a book in a café in Iceland.”  
“Shouldn't I?”  
“I think you most definitely should.”  
“Haha. So, yeah. I am not making any excuses here for lazily written fan fictions. I am not happy about everything it represents. I am not supporting the ideas of relationships it portrays as ideals or otherwise great. But I am saying is that it is a fantasy. And by studying fantasies we can learn a lot. About ourselves. Making fantasies socially acceptable, a discussion of socially acceptable fantasies is welcome. Or enjoying them in public, proudly.”  
“You want to make BDSM mainstream.”  
“I am not saying it is BDSM.”  
“You're right, it is not.”   
(You are so doing it again, Erik.) “But I am saying that... maybe we should not be so judgmental and quick and harsh about it. On a surface level, sure, but how about we notice what lies underneath it all.”  
“What lies underneath it then, to you?”  
“To me... First of all, I am extremely pleased that it has opened a possibility for discourse on female desire. In mainstream.”  
“So women can have sex these days.”  
“Yes.”  
“And talk about it.”  
“Yes.”  
“And want it.”  
“Yes.”  
“In your opinion, that was not possible before?”  
“Not in this scale.“  
“Okay.”  
“I mean, the whole point of 50 shades is sex. Or rather, masturbating to fantasies.”  
“Do go on.”  
“Could you imagine ordinary secretaries, bosses, teachers, nail artists openly declaring for the world to see on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram that they are about to have a glass of wine and a wank?”  
Erik laughs.  
“It has been easier for us men. Or, so some might argue.”  
“Don't wash your hands now from your opinions.”  
“I am merely speculating.”  
“I am not sure if there even exists a phrase that is more annoying than 'hypothetically speaking'. Or whatever hesitation people put after any sentence that they have bled into or fear that their inner nature could have come too visible by them saying that.”  
Charles smiles and does not take advantage of Erik's statement. “I am thinking, speculating out loud here. I am wondering if my observations are true.”  
“You fall back into very academic discourse here.”  
“I do. I worry that you will rip me into pieces if I say something stupid. “  
Erik raises an eyebrow.  
“Or, I worry that I want to rip myself into pieces if I make a fool out of myself.”  
“We are both slightly tipsy here. You shouldn't need to worry so much.”  
“We are. But it does not take away the fear of making a mistake, it just makes it more likely.”  
“Why do you fear it so much?”  
“We are both so used to keeping up a facade. Mine is that of a relaxed, jovial fella.”  
“And mine is someone with a stick up my arse.”  
“It is a large, cold one that is shoved up there. I'd say it is not a stick, though, because that implies it is wooden. I'd say a crowbar. Everything about you spells 'metal'.”  
“How about secondly?”  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“You were talking about 50 shades. You said 'first of all', it implies there's more to come.”  
“Oh. You'll get the rest when you give me more wine.”  
“Certainly.” Erik gets up to get another bottle. He is well aware of Charles's admiring eyes on his firm backside but any kind of wiggling would be very much out of character for him. He settles for making sure his back is straight and broad shoulders as broad as they are.  
“Oh yea. So um there is an underlying expectation of men being more sexually active, constantly active. To an annoying degree, or even to a predatory level. If they aren't, there is something wrong with them.”  
“I concur with that expectation.”  
“Great. I forgot what it was I was going to say. Thank you. This smells delicious.”  
“It also is delicious, it is my favorite wine. “  
“I need to write down the name of it when I'm sober.”  
“I can give you a bottle.”  
“That is very generous of you.”  
“I am a generous man.”  
Charles laughs, mouth wide relaxed and open, eyes half-open. “Riiight,” he stretches the word. “Anyway. 50 shades. I much rather see it as a sign of our times than the great satan it is made out to be. There has been a lot of debate about sex, in academic world at least. And absolutely ridiculous points, if I might add. Such as, if you consider yourself a feminist, can you enjoy a submissive position in sex.”   
Erik is back in his chair. “Well, can you?”  
“I think you can and you kind of have to enjoy sex the way you enjoy it. As long as it is consensual I think anything should go, and I simply do not see any reason for anyone else than the people involved in the sexual act should have any opinion about it.”  
“Why people do then, butt in, so to speak, in your opinion?”  
“Fuck if I know. Need to control. Power. The usual suspects. Someone has more fun than I do. Whatever. But the point is that you desire what you desire. And to admit to yourself that you desire something particular it is a very valuable first step.”  
“Towards what?”  
“Towards self-value. Acceptance. Acceptance for yourself and for others.”  
Erik nods. “I think I understand your point.”  
“This does not mean that I particularly enjoy 50 shades.”  
“Of course it doesn't. You just would like to get spanked.”  
“Wouldn't you?”  
Erik shrugs. “Perhaps.”  
“For me, the key to the book's success is in attention.”  
“Attention?”  
“The attention. The feeling of being The Protagonist.”  
“Being the protagonist?”  
“I mean, this girl feels like she's mundane, ordinary, boring. Nothing special about her. And then this amazing king of the universe shows up and makes her feel special, desired, one of a kind. Gives her all the material goods she could think of, or the writer could think of, what on earth are those hideous dishes they keep having, and love. Who wouldn't want that?”  
“Well the hideous dishes...”  
“Honestly, no control-freak with an obsession of everything first-class would go bonkers over mashed potatoes.”  
Erik laughs. “Too much starch?”  
“It is horrible! You can feel your intestines turn into a sticky lump even reading that. In any case, she comes to the understanding that there is something special about her, innate and hidden, that she hasn't realized herself. And through his attention she becomes aware of it. And there's value in that. She remains quite a dull girl, but she becomes the center of the universe. I mean look at all the other characters. They even move in unison, in groups and represent only caricatures. And it is not a problem. She is the queen. Her pleasure is the key.”   
“Pleasure then.”  
“Yes. He becomes the center of attention. Via bondage, she receives also safety. Someone takes care of her and puts all their effort and attention into her well-being and her pleasure.”  
Erik nods in silence.  
“And there's the sadness then. If people do not receive such a treatment or do not dare or even dare to demand it. Do not get to be the desired queen, the center of the universe.”  
Erik frowns.  
“Although I did heard there's some weird-ass pregnancy and motherhood shit happening in the last book, but I gave up way before that. I preferred to take my pleasure-based argument and run with it.”  
Erik laughs. “I think you did wisely there.”  
“Didn't I?”  
They both laugh.  
“But honestly, what is more important than pleasure.”  
Erik shrugs. “Greater good, art...”  
“Fuck them.”  
“Human rights.”  
“Pleasure is a basic human right.”  
They are smiling, nodding, staring at each other, sharing the pleasurable silence.  
“You can cut the crap and just admit that you have read my books.”  
“Guilty as charged.”  
“Ha! I knew it! Why didn't you admit it?”  
“I never denied it.”  
“Were they your opinions, back at the studio?”  
“What opinions?”  
“About the sexiness.”  
“Some of them.”  
Charles raises an eyebrow.  
“Fine, all of them.”  
“Hah!”   
“Please stop.”  
“Oh c'mon.”  
“Please. I just don't... like showing my cards.”  
“I did my research on you too.”  
“Of course you did.” Erik flinches.  
“You hide yourself.”  
“I... do.”  
“It is okay.”  
Erik lifts his head abruptly and is about to say something along the lines that he does not need a permission. But he holds his tongue. Acceptance feels too good to deny it.  
Charles smiles to him, all warmth.  
Erik's gaze is soft.  
“See, this is why I enjoy talking to you so much.” Did he just say something this personal? Obviously he did. “You make things seem so light. I like it. It is... very different from what I do.”  
Charles just nods.   
“Also, this is where the Earth aspect in you comes from, to me.”  
Charles is now grinning.  
“You are very connected, down-to-earth, rooty.”  
“I do love me some good old blues.”  
Erik is a little overthrown.  
“I collect guitars. Bet you did not know that about me?”  
“I didn't! What kind?”  
“I play a little bit of everything. But there's one album I crave to play to you now, right now. It's not even one of my favorites, it just came to me now that you told me how you... sense me.”  
“What is it, then.” Erik is incredibly reluctant to give up the control of his sonic atmosphere.   
“Blues & Roots by Charles Mingus.”  
“Fine, then. I'll put it on.” Erik pulls his phone out of his pocket and searches for the album.   
Charles laughs. “You like to hold on to the reins. Or ropes.”  
“As much as I just humanly can.”  
“Humanly.” Charles inspects his hands. “It is not that I don't like Portishead.”  
Erik lifts his eyes to Charles.   
“I do, a lot. But I don't want to feel like I am such a guest at your house.”  
“But you are a guest.”  
“I know. Momentarily, I feel like I am either an intruder or a tourist here. In your kingdom.”  
Erik frowns.  
“And most of the time I do feel like a welcomed guest, yes.”  
Erik's face relaxes.  
“I just want to pass you some of my... energy, I suppose.”  
Erik nods.  
“Mingus, then.”  
“Mingus.”  
Erik gets up. “Would you like a cigar?”  
“I'd love one.”


	9. there are no mysteries to the ones getting the joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are listening to Charles Mingus from the chapter before. Roll on alright

Charles has changed his position to lie on the leather couch. He lies on his back, one ankle on the knee again, one arm under his head. His toes, again clad in very heavy woolly socks, tap the air. Erik remains on his arm chair, eyes on Charles. 

Thick smoke falls on them, encompasses them like the notes from the speakers Erik has obviously very deliberately and meticulously placed in the room. The sound is impeccable, luxurious, thick and wonderful. There are no words needed, for anything. Not between them or added to the music.

“Come.” Erik gets up suddenly.

Charles opens his eyes, blinks and squints. 

“I want to show you something.” 

Erik stretches out his hand. Charles takes it.


	10. “Synthetic continuity”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statue mentioned: https://artwrite54.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/2352011_com_uniqueform.jpg

Next to the library room is another surprising change of scene. The sound system seems to be set here as well, as the music follows them just as impeccably. Charles appreciates it greatly. Another thing he appreciates is the warm heaviness in his limbs that is the result of the wine and the whiskey, and the lightness of his head, must be due to the cigar. 

This room is again huge, tall, white and metal, but the most prominent feature of it is a massive sculpture in the middle of the room. Charles is not sure what it is but he know it is magnificent.

He lets out an astonished sound and misses the expression Erik has because of it. Erik remains near the door, arms folded, smugly smiling, as Charles has let go of his hand and gone towards the statue.

It is at least three meters tall, it distinctly reminds him of Boccioni's Unique Forms of Continuity in Space, and is full of force. Charles would love to call it fierce but it would be too draggy a word. Ferocious. Again, taut like Michael and his Mercedes. Full of power and absolutely in control, nevermind its immensity. 

He walks around the statue, holds out his hand to touch it, quickly looks at Erik, who nods, and then places his palm on the metal. 

It is cool, smooth and immobile. Charles is not exactly sure what he expected. The metal to breathe? Maybe. He circles the pedestal this part of the statue is on. He would say that it is a human form, taking a step or a leap or something. Legs wide apart. Taking up the arse? Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps he is just drunk. Perhaps the statue is drunk.

Charles has trouble figuring out what type of metal it is, or if it is a mixture of many, and if it carries any significance to him. It probably does to Erik, meticulous man of detail that he is.

“Are you into Italian Futurists?” he asks.

“I would be lying if I denied the fact that I have been... how did you phrase it, influenced by them.” Erik sucks on his cigar and smiles. He looks so much in love with himself Charles laughs at him. “I did aim for capturing a moment in time. A movement, a change, a fraction, all that crap.”

Here's the excited kid again. 

“How did you manage to forge the metal like this? It is like there are no seams, at all!” Charles heads back to Erik.  
“If I told you, I'd have to kill you.”  
“Maybe you wouldn't kill me even if you had to.”  
“Maybe. Maybe I'd just maim you, a little.”  
“A little. That's cute.”  
Erik bites his tongue.  
“So this then.”   
“This then.”  
“Thank you.” Charles turns to Erik. “I appreciate it. That you shared this with me.”  
“You're welcome.” Erik takes his eyes of the statue.  
“Do you have any more surprises for me?”  
“Probably.”  
“Good. I enjoy the element of surprise.”  
“What was it, 'what we don't know is intriguing...danger is arousing'?”  
“Most definitely yes on both accounts.”   
Charles is grinning so hard his cheeks start to ache.  
“Won't you just kiss me? I know you want to.”


	11. “no brutal breakdown can be quite brutal enough”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another quote from Liturgy

Erik just stares at him, and for a fleeting second Charles wonders if he has made a huge mistake. He can't have, he knows for a fact that Erik wants to kiss him and it is not like Charles doesn't want him to.   
Erik turns his gaze back to the sculpture and says nothing, just takes another drag of his cigar.  
Charles gets impatient and more than a little anxious. “What now, what's wrong?”  
Erik shakes his head, just slightly. “It's just...” He shrugs.  
“What is it?”  
Erik grabs the back of Charles's neck and pulls him to his lips. “Don't,” he growls and then bites into Charles's mouth.


	12. “When in doubt, give!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Björk – The Pleasure is All Mine  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKcOqZFkzdw

“My God,” Charles struggles for breath. “You do anything with less than full force?”  
“Wouldn't you like to know.” Erik wipes the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.  
“I would, as a matter of fact.”  
Erik blinks and turns on his heels to go back to the library. Charles follows him but lingers near the doorway; watches him pour another drink, walk to the window, pull the curtain a little and look outside, into the darkness.  
Charles wonders if he could do the same, lift a certain curtain a little and understand a little more... but even without doing that he knows that the best he can do now is to do what everybody else wouldn't.  
He turns his back to Erik and returns to the atelier.


	13. “Dat's what I'm talkin' bout”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is  
> Nite Fields - Fill the Void https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NtTsbQUYtW4  
> do give a shot to the rest of the album as well, it is brilliant.

Charles sits on a desk in the atelier. There's cigar ash on his pants, or actually Erik's, but he probably won't give them back. Lovely fabric, this cashmere. The way it caresses his butt when he walks, or even now that he sits. No wonder Erik always looks so smooth and sleek and downright touchable.   
He feels a presence in the room, or he has felt it for a longer time, someone lurking by the door. He does not let it bother him, he gently hums to the music, smokes, muses the sculpture. Is it tripping? Or stumbling? It consists mainly of two strong legs and some kind of a haphazard torso. It is like these kind of statues never have arms, paying homage to that one guy who had that great idea. And great sculptures. Whoever that was. Maybe they don't really pay homage, though, maybe they just don't know how to do hands. Or making them would be too strong of a statement, like actually doing something. What are all these futuristic bodies going to do when they get to the new, improved world with all that force and fuss? What are they going to do there, farther in the time, walk around and enjoy the view? Exercise? Shitloads of football? 4-4-2 all the way.  
Charles looks into his glass. He needs a refill after this. He throws back the rest of the drink and grimaces. There was more left than he had anticipated.  
He feels Erik's body pressing against his back, swiftly encompassing him from the other side as a glass of whiskey is slid over the table to his hand.   
“I'm sorry,” Erik murmurs into his ear. God he smells terrific, even under and over all this cigar and whiskey and tinted lips from red wine.   
Charles smiles slightly, tilts his head to expose more of his neck. “Where do you think he's going?”  
Erik freezes for a second. “Who?”  
“The statue.”  
“Oh.” Erik breathes in, slow and deep. “I'm not sure.”  
“You made him.”  
“I did.”   
Charles does not seem to mind, so Erik dares to linger in the scent of his skin. Warm, earthy, as he expected, but still manages somehow to be even more exquisite.   
“You should know, then.”  
“Do you know where all your characters are going?”  
“I try to. I feel like I owe them that much.”  
“What do you mean?” Erik presses his body delicately harder against Charles's; his nose, his lips just a few millimeters closer to Charles's skin, and breathes him in again.  
“I feel like... They let me use them. Tell their stories for my own benefit. The very least I should do is to make sure that they get where they are going.”  
“I rather let him decide for himself.”  
Charles laughs and lifts his drink. Erik is forced to back away a little.  
“Okay I'm done, you can come back now,” Charles sets the glass down again and leans against Erik's body.  
Erik does not back off this time, but allows Charles's weight on him. He would shiver now if he would allow himself to do something like that.  
They stare at the sculpture in silence. The music has changed, yet again.  
“What is this?”  
“Nite Fields.” Erik turns his head to look at Charles. “Fill the Void.”  
“I like them.” Charles lets him watch. He closes his eyes.   
Erik makes just a low, agreeing sound.   
“You didn't give him much to decide with, though.”  
“I gave him enough.”  
“A crotch?”  
“That as well.”  
Another silence. Slight humming.  
“You think I should do more?”  
“I think he needs a head. Arms maybe too. So that he can choose and pick stuff up and whatever.”  
Erik lifts Charles's chin with two, cool fingers, turns his head towards his.  
“I thought sheer force and movement created with sleek surface was more than enough.”  
“It isn't always.”  
Erik places a soft, slow kiss on Charles's lips.  
“I see.”  
Another, it is a tender one. Charles parts his lips just a little to breathe in, Erik licks his lower lip just barely, graces it slightly and then presses their lips together again, all softness and kindness.  
“I'm sorry.” He sighs against his lips.  
“About what?”  
“About...” Erik kisses him again, shortly.  
“Don't worry about it.” Charles says. “Or anything, for that matter.”  
Erik closes his eyes. Their foreheads rest against each other. Charles lifts a hand to caress his cheek.   
Erik pulls away, finishes his drink and then climbs on the same desk. It is a massive, long metal desk that reminds Charles of hospitals or some other super-hygienic places. He lifts his drink so that Erik can adjust himself where he wants to go, which is next to him, lying on his back, with his head in Charles's lap.   
“Aww, that's better, isn't it,” Charles smiles.  
Erik smiles and nods. “It is.”  
Charles strokes his hair, Erik smiles up to him.  
“Damn, I wish I had a cigarette,” he frowns all of a sudden.  
“Don't you have any?”   
“I left them in my study. I did bring the whiskey though,” he points under the table. Charles leans back to check the direction. Oh there, on the metal shelf among all the scraps and tools in boxes, is a lovely bottle of Lagavulin.   
“Nice.”  
“It's 21.”  
“What a great age.” Charles leans further to reach for it.  
“Got it?”  
“Yeah! Want some?”  
“I'd rather have a smoke.”  
“Well lucky for you, I stole yours earlier today.”  
“Did you!”  
“Yeah, hold on.” Charles picks two from the packet on his other side and puts them between his lips.  
“You little thief. After everything I have given you, willingly. Even offered.”  
Charles lights the cigarettes and puts the other one between Erik's lips. “Oh hush yourself. I didn't know how long I would have to hang out in the penalty box. I figured I needed some comfort.”  
Erik laughs. He has folded his arms, crossed his ankles, and appears to be quite relaxed after all. Then he tenses and stops laughing. “But honestly, Charles...”  
“Hush, I said already.” Charles takes a long drag of his cigarette. “We all do what we do. As far as I'm concerned, everything is cool.”  
“But Charles.” Erik's voice is so solemn it demands Charles to look at him.  
“Yes Erik.”  
“I am really glad you are here.”  
“I am glad as well that I am here.”  
“I did want to kiss you.”  
“Great.” What a grin!  
“I would also like you to stay for the night.”  
“That could be arranged.”  
“But I will not have sex with you tonight.”  
“I see.”  
“Not that I don't want to, don't get me wrong.”  
“Yes.”  
“But just... not tonight.”  
“That's cool.”  
“Good. We have an understanding.”  
“What do you even take me for, some kind of a floozie?”  
Erik laughs.  
“I'm not that easy, man! A few compliments, a little whiskey, fancy clothes and cigars... You look like a model, wanna come over to my place? No sir!”  
Erik laughs. “No, Charles...”  
“It's fine.” Charles smiles at him softly. “I understand.”  
“Perhaps you do.”  
“Perhaps even better than you think... C'mon man, I'm so drunk and tired and smoked out that my performance would've been far from sublime. I would've been adequate at best. We can't have that.”  
“Oh most certainly now. But you know, I will.”  
“Will what?”  
“Fuck you. Through the wall, perhaps.”  
“Oh, you tease...”  
“But only if you want to, of course.”  
“Are we asking for permission now?”  
“Most certainly we are, this is not some 50 shades of bullshit here.”  
“Don't you demand me, a kind and blushing virgin, to sign some kind of a deal and a promise not to tell anyone about your nocturnal sculpting activities?”  
“No, I wouldn't even dare to force anything like that on you, you kind, blushing virgin.”  
“You chivalrous stallion.”  
“But there is a chance that you won't walk for a week afterwards.”  
“Are you for real?”  
“Perhaps even for the rest of your life.”  
“Hahaha all talk no walk.”  
“No walking for you at least.”  
“I see.”   
“See, this is a part of the foreplay already.”  
“Is it?”  
“Yeah, mind games. Adds to the pleasure. Or maybe numbs your brain.”  
“Ribbed, for her pleasure.” Charles caresses Erik's chest lightly.  
“Or mine. It's a great plan, isn't it? Considering the state we are in.”  
“True that.”  
“My devious plan might be to impress you unconscious...”  
“With lectures on art with no end...”  
“And lull you into false sense of arousal. I'll sneak in and out. I'll be real quick, you won't even notice. I most definitely won't bother you for long, not in this condition. You'll still be under the impression that the great show is still on its way.”  
“That constitutes as rape, doesn't it?”  
“Not in all states. And we're not related. At least I don't think we are.”  
“Oh good. I was a little worried for my purity there for a second.”  
“Whiskey will keep you pure.”  
“That's something my mother never told me.”  
“It's in the apocrypha section, look it up.”  
“Wonder what else I've missed.”  
“I can help you find that out.”  
“You, my dear sir, are a rape joke waiting to happen.”  
“A ticking rape joke.”  
“Great. I'm very lucky to have such a noble, knowing teacher.”  
“You are a blessed and unique sextoy due to the attention I have chosen to complement you with. But honestly, Charles.”  
“Yes.”  
“To me, this is somehow more intimate. More important. More meaningful.”  
“Yeah, I get it.”  
“Do you?”  
“Yes, and I agree with you. And it sucks that you feel like you need to justify your reasons to me.”  
Erik opens his mouth to say something but doesn't, he just lifts his hand and pokes Charles's nose.  
Charles laughs. “More Lagavulin?”  
“I can't see why not. I will feel horrible tomorrow anyway.”  
“Yeah, we both will. Too bad you don't have anything for hangover here. I would love to cry on a pizza tomorrow. Cry on it,” Charles pours a bit hesitantly the whiskey, “because I want it real real bad but I won't be able to swallow.”  
Erik opens his mouth again, but Charles interrupts him. “Yeah, I set that one up for you. Careful now. Attenzioonee,” he yells the last word, takes a swig of whiskey and places his lips on Erik's.  
The transmission of liquids mouth-to-mouth never goes as planned, and Charles has to lick the side of Erik's chin for an escaped droplet.  
“You could have warned me!”  
“I did!”  
Erik pulls his face back to him. “Lagavulin adds some extra to kissing you.”  
“Kissing me is brilliant even without alcohol.”  
“I imagine it is.”  
“But I swear to God, I will set your turtleneck on fire if you don't let me pee right now.”


	14. “Make-out City's a two-horse town”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a warning after all: I'm writing this fic as a side project to my ultrastressful thesis, so do not expect this to come to an end any time soon. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> The song is Beck – Hollywood Freaks http://youtu.be/fYtF30ipZZ0  
> Dance moves I imagine are somewhere along these lines:  
> Sexx Laws http://youtu.be/IQfwgzoiq4c  
> Boys Keep Swinging http://youtu.be/UMhFyWEMlD4

Charles loses it at the door already. He is carrying a vase (he couldn't find anything more suitable with the minimum effort he put it) and two glasses and almost drops them to the floor as he doubles over laughing.  
Erik is in the middle of the study, dancing to Beck, with very similar moves even -- as the chorus comes on Erik slides face-to-face to Charles to jerk his hips very provocatively. “I wanna know what makes you scream, be your twenty-million dollar fantasy-” Charles laughs, opens his arms and joins him in dance. “Treat you real good, expensive jeans-”  
The both grind lower to the second part of the chorus: “Touch it real good if you want a piece-”

“Here, have some. I brought us some water.”  
Erik frowns. “Water is for pussies.”  
“Just lap it up, kitten. You'll thank me later.”  
Erik sings long but drinks the water anyhow.  
“So, dancing now then?”  
“Yeahhh, felt like a little midnite vultures would be in order.”  
“You're right about that.”  
Erik sits down on the floor next to the table and starts to fix himself a set of sushi. “Want some?”  
“I'd love some.”  
Charles watches as Erik, still jamming to the tunes, mixes the soy sauce and wasabi amazingly accurately, and then picks a piece of sushi, dips it and then offers it to Charles.  
“Hand-to-mouth.”  
“One of the things on the menu.”  
“Ooh, I thought you weren't offering other things tonight,” Charles does his best to pronounce at least somewhat clearly.  
Erik smiles quizzically, shrugs, sings along. “Give those pious soldiers another lollipop, 'cause we're on a good ship Menage-a-trois.” Charles gets another piece of sushi and a sly smile.  
“You got some smooth moves, baby.”  
“Cheers.”  
“You've been practicing.”  
“I have. I sleep only four hours a night.”  
“Really? That's not much.”  
“I don't need more than that.” Erik feeds him another piece. “Tart?”  
“That's rude. There are your clothes after all. And yes please.”  
Erik feeds Charles for a good few songs. He changes the order though, Sexx Laws and Mixed Bizness appear at least twice. Charles hums happily and enjoys watching Erik so carefree and happy and still carrying the sexy mystery with him. Sexy mystery? Did I really say that? Charles frowns. Should think of something less... clichée.   
“I want to see the rest of the house,” Charles says.  
“Of course you do.” Erik fiddles with the food.  
“You're not going to take me on a tour?”  
Erik shrugs. “I'm not sure yet.” He lifts his eyes from the plates and to Charles's. “Are you worth it?”  
Charles laughs. “Worth what?”  
“My trust.”  
Charles shrugs.   
Erik goes back to fiddling with the fork. “I don't mingle much.”  
“I get that.”  
“I'm not interested in people.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Most of them bore me.”  
“I know the feeling.”  
Erik turns his eyes back to Charles.  
“You don't.”  
“I don't? Is it my mad dancing skills or my crazy vernacular?”  
“Come on.” Erik jumps up, misses the table just barely and stretches his arm out to Charles. “Let's go.”  
Charles grabs his hand and is almost as swiftly on his feet. “Let's!”


	15. “Here I go going down, down, down”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQÜRL feat. Madeline Follin - Funnel of Love: http://youtu.be/K_xTZxcFSe4?list=PLbdqG66Oi6xgabcETuPKetIrjI-365Ptj

I think it is quite boring how people tend to think abstinence and austerity equals to classy, luxurious and tasteful. And how colors and opulence equal decadence. At times I do find gold to be tacky but its inlaid heaviness does carry certain comforting steadiness.  
I like in particular how the rising sun paints the room with its amber tones. In the winter, when the light is cold and brutal, the curtains create a similar illusion of a warm, welcoming day, and paint a safe haven to wake up in.  
Erik turns around, leans against the windowsill. It is a wide one, with blue pillows of silk and velvet and embroidery on them. He does not necessarily read as much there as he'd like to but he feasts on the possibility.  
Other possibility he feasts on is lying between the royal blue sheets in his bed. Erik inspects everything in his bed with a content smile on his lips. He had the bed custom made; he prefers futon but he dislikes sleeping close to the ground, so the four post bed was specifically made for his needs. There are steps surrounding the bed, so Erik does not have any nightstands. The lamps above the bed he has made himself, naturally.   
Charles shifts a little and lifts his head, blinking and then giving up. He buries his head back into the pillows. He makes an incomprehensible noise.  
“Good morning,” Erik states. “Would you like some coffee?”  
The answer is just as incomprehensible, but after another attempt Erik knows to bring him some water. And a breath mint.   
There is a small table in front of a bookshelf and next to it, an armchair. There's a tray with a delicate pitcher and two glasses, and Erik pours some water into the other one.  
Charles has managed to get himself upright during this procedure, he leans on the bedpost – it is made of dark wood, and carved into a masterpiece, it has metallic emblems all over it. He accepts the water gratefully.   
“It's very Moroccan here,” he observes.  
Erik sits next to him on the bed. “I enjoy the colors they have there.” He leans further down until it comes clear that the most comfortable position to be in is to lie on his back, neck on Charles's ankles. Charles leans forward to pet his hair and then, squinting, leans back against the wall.   
“Goddamn my head hurts.”  
“If you don't move it is tolerable.”  
“Exactly.”  
Erik makes a haphazard attempt at reaching for Charles's hand but gives up. “My skin hurts.”  
“I don't think I can swallow anything. Ever again. If I manage to crawl into the bathroom I am probably just going to lap the floortiles in hope of absorbing something moist. There's a Sahara of dead cats in my mouth.”  
Erik laughs but grimaces. “Don't do that to me.”  
“The stairs are going to be the death of me.”  
“There's a bathroom up here as well.” Erik manages to point to a door in the wall.  
“Ahh that's awesome.”  
“I had moments like these in mind.”  
“You're a genius.”  
“I am.”  
“How did we end up here? My last recollections are from the library.”  
“I carried you.”  
“Really!”  
“Your head may hurt partly because of that too. I may have had some problems with the door.”  
Charles touches the side of his head carefully. “I think there is a bump here.”  
“I'm really sorry about it.” Erik looks like he might cry.  
Charles misses that, he keeps his eyes closed. “It's fine. I probably would have fallen on the steps myself.” Then Charles frowns. “This is on the second floor, isn't it?”  
“Yes, it is.”  
“Nice.” Charles lifts a finger. “I like the lamps.”  
“Thanks. I made them myself.”  
They lie in the amber sunlight sharing a silence.  
“Do you need to be somewhere soon?” Erik asks.  
“No. I don't think I have anything arranged today. It is Saturday, right?”  
“I think so.”  
“Great. Then I don't. Do you?”  
“No. Nothing I haven't canceled already.”  
“Brilliant.”  
They enjoy another moment of silence.  
“Do you wanna see a movie or something?”  
“Yeah.”  
Another pause.  
“Do you think we'll ever get up?”  
“Not for a while.”  
“This could mean something sexy.”  
“I know.”  
“I can't move without throwing up.”  
“Neither can I.”  
Silence.  
“The sun is sooo warm and niiice.”  
“I think it's out to get me.”  
“What, really?” Charles laughs. “What's it gonna do to you?”  
“Not sure but nothing good.”  
Charles laughs some more.  
“I get these hideous hangovers,” Erik explains, eyes closed, they are now holding hands. “I don't get physically so ill but I get really emotional.”  
“Do you cry when you see puppies?”  
“...Yes.” Erik is hesitant to confess but Charles's laughter makes him feel safe. “I can't watch anything with cute animals in it. And I get insanely paranoid.”  
Charles laughs even harder. “Aw man, I've had a few of those. At festivals especially.”  
“Yeah, exactly like that. It's like Inception or something. They are preying on you.”  
“Everything's a potential drive-by shooting.”  
“Why do you think I live in an old factory? The walls are like a meter thick.”  
“It all makes sense now.”  
“Doesn't it. They're coming for us.”  
Charles laughs.  
“I'd tickle you now but I can't,” Erik informs.  
“Please don't, I'd probably throw up on your beautiful bed.”  
“Don't, took me ages to find a perfect futon.”  
“You're such a pretentious ass with your perfection-obsession.”  
“Don't mock me, rich boy.”  
“What, how did you hear about that?”  
“You are very talkative when you're drunk.”  
“Aw shit, now I am getting paranoid here.”  
“And I'm getting sick.” Erik pulls himself up into sitting position. “The bathroom's over there, there are towels and everything. Help yourself.”  
“Where are you going?” Charles refuses to let go of his hand.  
“I need coffee.” Erik gets on his feet and immediately has to sit again. “Jesus Christ.”  
“Aww baby.” Charles leans on his side and rests his head on Erik's shoulder. “This is going to be a slow, quiet day.”   
“Yes it is.” Erik kisses his forehead. “I'll try to get the newspaper. See you in the study?”  
“If I can find my way there again.” Charles rubs Erik's neck and back. “I don't remember a thing of the tour you gave me last night.”  
Erik leans his head against the top of Charles's head. “Try harder.”  
“I won't plant any bombs in your house.”  
“Are you sure about that?”  
“Well besides that one.”  
“See you downstairs.” Erik kisses the top of Charles's head and gets up. “There's an extra toothbrush in the bathroom for you as well.”  
“Oh, were you expecting me to stay the night?”  
“My assistant brought it this morning.”  
Charles's eyes go wide. “Your assistant?”  
“She also brought us pizza. Come on, I am getting anxious.” Erik is shifting around. “I need to move.”  
Charles laughs. “Go on then. I'll be right there.”  
Erik looks grateful and then bounces to the door and is gone.


	16. "The days are bright and filled with pain"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doors - Crystal Ship  
> http://youtu.be/bU1sLx1tjPY
> 
> The Strokes - You talk way too much   
> http://youtu.be/OqfMnvyFoCM

As Charles enters the kitchen drying his hair, Erik is swaying awkwardly by the counter. He is arranging something on plates, and when he turns around his eyes are wide open.  
“I'm not sure if I can drink coffee,” he whispers.  
“How come?” Charles laughs. “Oo, pizza.”  
Erik blinks and grabs Charles's hand. “Here, check my pulse.”  
“Shit, it really is racing.”  
“But I really want coffee.”  
“Don't you have any d-caf?”  
Erik looks disgusted. “What kind of question is that? I don't drink urine, either.”  
Charles laughs at him.  
“D-caf is an insult to coffee.” Erik turns to continue grinding the coffee beans after all. “It's like... ripping the soul out of a child.”  
Charles laughs and walks next to Erik, pokes at pizza slices. “Or kicking a baby seal.”  
“Steping on a little dog.”  
Charles wraps his arm around Erik. “Keying your Mercedes.”  
“Pissing on your book.”  
“I might like that, actually.”  
“You would? Well. Once I have some water in my cells instead of alcohol and anxiety I might give it a shot.”  
“Can I watch?”  
“I think you have to.”  
“I think you are disgusting and I love it.”  
“I think I am quite disgusting. At least I feel that way.” Erik stops and leans against the desk heavily. The coffee beans are already ground. “I took a shower already but I feel like I sweat liqueur.”  
Charles sniffs his neck. “You kinda do.” He licks Erik's neck. “You really do.”   
Erik shivers, closes his eyes. “Does this mean you think I'm intoxicating?”  
Charles laughs. “Just how much did you drink?”  
“After you fell asleep? I think I had a few more.” Erik turns around, still leaning against the counter. Charles moves in front of him, wrapping his arms around Erik.  
“You just sat there like a proper creep? Watching me sleep?”  
“I'm quite sure I did.”  
“Awesome.” Charles is cheery.   
“I have some recollections of singing the Doors.”  
“You didn't!”  
“Beee-fooo-re you slip into unconsciousness-”  
Charles laughs. “That is amazing.” He kisses the side of Erik's mouth. “Do you want me to make the coffee? I kind of feel like a human being. You don't really look like one.”  
“Please.” Erik leans his forehead against Charles's for a moment, then moves to sit on one of the bar stools.   
“You know how sometimes when you're hungover you have a good hangover?” Charles is almost dancing around the kitchen, pouring water in the kettle and placing it on the stove. “Like when you're still drunk and giddy.”  
“Yeah, I've heard of those.” Erik leans his head on his hand, watching Charles.   
“I feel so weak right now it's hilarious.” Charles picks up a slice of pizza and sniffs it. “I wish I could swallow something.”  
“That... can't be arranged right now.”  
Charles laughs. “These moments are the worst. You're ridiculously eager and absolutely incapable of.”  
“Just gimme some time-”  
“I just need a little time!” Charles catches the tune, taking the boiling water and filling the French press. “You talk way too much... it's only the end, it's only the end as you know it.”  
Erik bares his teeth, it's the closest to a smile he is able to spread on his face right now. “I'd almost forgotten that song.”  
“They're making a comeback, internet tells me.”  
“Again.”  
“Yeah, again.” Charles turns around with a metal tray laid with two cups, French press, a few slices of pizza. “Shall we?”  
“Please.”


	17. "Beautiful, that's handsome, bag of chips and then some"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just think the track's a banger.
> 
> Jack Ü feat. Kieszka: Take Ü There (Missy remix)  
> http://youtu.be/r89yS7-1Q8A

“Just lay it there on the table,” Erik has already slumped on the couch. “I'll get the TV out.”  
Charles raises his eyebrows. “You- oh I see.”  
With a remote control Erik has managed to get a plasma screen emerge from the bookshelves. “Do you think you could-” he motions towards the dust flying lazily in a sunbeam.   
“Certainly.” Charles dances to close the curtains. “Better?”  
“Much. Thanks.”  
“I must say that you seem to have quite an exquisite collection of robes. Just how many do you have?”  
“Enough.” Erik seems to be really close to drooling on himself. Charles is prancing around in the blue velvet robe he has on.   
“They certainly feel nice.”  
“Mm-hm.”  
“You seem to enjoy having soft things wrapped around your body.”  
“Mm-hm.”  
Charles picks a slice and jumps on the couch next to Erik, who flinches. “Are you a cuddler, when you're hungover?”  
“I'm not sure I am a cuddler ever.”  
“Aw c'mon, I know you are.”  
“You know...?”  
“I did spend the night with you.”  
“I thought you were passed out.”  
“You thought wrong. Your nuzzling game is strong.”  
“Fucking hell.” Erik rubs the bridge between his eyes.  
“But it's fine, I like it. You're very bony, though.”  
“Do you always talk this much?”  
“At times. Hey what was that-”  
“I don't know, some commercial.”  
“I want to see it!”  
“What if you bring me my newspaper and I give you the remote in exchange.”  
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Charles jumps up. “I might shut up for a while then.”  
“Yes. Hopefully.”   
He is lying though, they both are.


	18. "Another flashing chance at bliss"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (angel haze runs new york)

The day passes in a pleasant haze. They evolve their relationship on the couch over terrible tv-movies, some football, a lot of pizza, coffee and mineral water, and luxury robes, pillows and blankets. Erik has to admit to himself something Charles persistently knew already, that he definitely likes cuddling and that his nuzzling game is strong.   
The skinniest ray of sunlight passes through the room and the Sunday evening gloom looms at the doorstep. Charles is lying on top of Erik, his head on his chest, Erik caressing his hair, not at all watching the screen. He is humming the Crystal ship very quietly to himself. He clears his throat and tenses. Charles ignores it but flips channels.  
“Do you need to go home tonight?”   
“Not really. If you give me some clothes for tomorrow.”  
“Sure.” Erik twists a lock of hair between his fingers. “Do you need to get up early?”  
Charles shrugs. “If you lend me a computer with internet, I am in no rush anywhere. I have a shit ton of emails but that's about it, I guess.”  
Erik smiles to himself. “I need to edit the pictures tomorrow.”  
“Oh yeah the pictures.” Charles lifts his head, rests his chin on Erik's chest and looks him in the eye. “We were supposed to take some here, weren't we.”  
Erik smiles at him gently. “We were.”  
Charles smiles at him.   
“We will,” he continues and tugs gently at the lock of hair in his hand.  
“I guess I will have to wait for that to happen then.”  
“You do.”  
“Keep coming back until it is done.”  
“Yes.”  
“I guess it can't be helped, then.”  
“No.”   
“Okay then.” Charles turns his head back sideways, flips the channels some more.  
Erik keeps stroking his hair. Such delicate curls. He had smeared them with oil. It had been great. What else would work? Clay? The metal masks? He had forgotten all about them, for a while. He had forgotten all about everything, actually. For a while.   
The incredible quiete in his mind. It would be frustrating in any other situation, but right now, he welcomes the inability to do anything else but process sensing very basic things. Share the silence, share the slowness.   
Tomorrow would be very different.   
“Would you like to take a bath with me?” he asks.  
Charles shrugs. “If I can eat there.”  
“You need to get up for a second then. I'll go run it.”  
“You run New York.”


	19. "Wanna share my world don't you understand."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaliyah: One In A Million  
> http://youtu.be/VKbWF1jwMhE

Erik thoroughly loves his private little Moroccan haven. The tiles are deep turquoise, the bathmats are burnt orange, the bathtub itself is quite ridiculous but he still loves it – it has golden paws.   
He sets two chairs on the other ends of the tub, ashtray and a pack of cigarettes on the other, candles on the other. He lights candles around the bathroom – some in the very ornate lanterns, others just on the edges or tabletops he can find. He adds oils to the bathwater that is running. He checks that there are enough towels, bath cloths and then Charles hugs him from behind.  
“Can I come in already?”  
Erik cradles the arms around him. “I was just about to call you.”  
“Mmm,” Charles closes his eyes. “It smells delicious here.”  
“My own blend.”  
“Of course it is.”   
“I brought some pizza with me as well, it could be that too.”  
Erik laughs. “Mmm, old cheese.” He turns around and hold Charles in his arms, lifts his chin and smiles. “Let's bathe.” He kisses him. “Take a shower first, though.” And then he disappears into the bedroom with a pat on Charles's butt, and leaves Charles to wonder just how many rules there will be for bathing in Erik's house.   
“Is it like superhot or just really hot, the water?” Charles takes his robe off. “I don't want to end up like a crab.”  
Erik comes back to the bathroom with a book and a pitcher in his hands, looking concerned. “It will be quite hot, I'm afraid.”  
Charles grimaces.   
“I took a liking to extreme temperatures in Iceland, and Japan.”  
“I see.” Erik follows Charles to the shower booth. “I guess I just have to deal with it.”  
“You will.” Erik lathers Charles's chest hair which makes him giggle. “I'll make it worth your while.”  
Charles reaches to kiss him. “I'm certain of it.”  
They get out of the shower and into the tub, Erik immediately offers Charles a small towel to dry his hands and his face, and does the same.  
“And now what?”  
“Now we enjoy,” Erik leans back and lights a cigarette. “Kampai.”  
“Kampai!” Charles toasts with a water glass.   
“Ahhh, this is heavenly,” he slides down to rest his neck against the porcelain. “You really know how to show a boy good time.” He folds the washcloth over his eyes. “I probably couldn't be any more relaxed right now.”  
“You sure?” Erik raises an eyebrow.  
Charles laughs. “I guess one can always be a little happier.”  
“I guess.” Erik blows out a long drag of smoke, watching Charles.   
“Why don't we have any music on?”   
“I was trying to pick something,” Erik reached to flick the ashes, “But it became too stressful.”  
“Stressful?”  
“You know, if the mood wouldn't have been right. We would've been stuck here with something terrible.”  
Charles laughs. “All wet and naked with terrible music. That would've sucked.”  
“Yeah.”  
Erik smokes, Charles sways slightly, silently.  
“What's the song in your mind now?” Erik asks.  
“I have this weird habit... If it's too quiet, I get this rush of 90s r'n'b in my head.”  
“Thong song?”  
“Among others! R. Kelly is the worst.”  
“You're like the Tom Haverford of my bathtub.”  
“Baby you don't know, what you do to me-” Charles starts to dance a little.  
Erik watches amused.  
“Between me and you, I feel a chemistry-”   
“That's a brilliant track, seriously.” Erik puffs more of his cigarette.  
“Wanna please you in anyway I can-”   
Charles hits the high notes as well, to Erik's amusement.  
“You should to the hand thing too!”  
“What hand thing?”  
“You know, where you try to reach the notes, like this.” Erik shows. “Like Whitney Houston.”  
“Like a proper diva, alright! Channel my inner Mariah. And all my single ladies.”  
They sing the chorus together again, with a certain RuPaul elegance and sass. You give me a really good feeling, all day long.  
Charles keeps humming and swaying, but suddenly notices that Erik's expression has grown gloomy.  
“What is it? Don't you like Aaliyah?”  
Erik's gives a half-smile.  
Charles splashes a little towards his direction. “Tell me.”  
“I like Aaliyah, what I don't like is the reality.”  
“None of us likes the reality.”  
“Tomorrow it will be Monday.”  
“Right you are about that.”  
Erik is silent, he just looks at Charles.   
Charles leans back again and lifts his foot. “Here's a little man-toe to your face, lover.” He tries to caress Erik's face with it, with very little grace. Erik laughs. “I'mma soothe your sorrows with it.”  
Erik takes Charles's foot in his hands and kisses it. “You do.”   
Charles smiles at him. “Should you shave my legs? Isn't that what people do in these situations?”  
Erik grimaces, keeps on kissing his foot though. “I won't.”  
“Aw c'mon, don't you like my body hair? I thought you loved my mangora.”  
“I prefer your mangora attached to you.” Erik actually does look a bit disgusted.  
“You don't want to be swimming around in my fluffy fur?”   
Erik frowns.   
“A little manscaping here and there, and I'll give you a seven year itch you'll never forget – ow! Stop biting me!”  
Erik just flashes his teeth and keeps playing with Charles's toes.   
“So this is how it is then,” Charles waves his hands under the water to keep balance. Erik raises an eyebrow.   
“How what is?”  
Charles shrugs. “I don't know. I wanted to say something ominous and interesting and sexual.”  
Erik chuckles. “Somewhere in the land of traffic and sorrow, man sex is about to happen,” he does a movie trailer voice.  
“Oo, is it?”  
Erik shrugs. “I don't know. I'm just the guy sucking your toes.”  
“Oh, okay. Keep going.” Charles picks up the bathcloth from the water and rests it over his eyes again. “Don't forget to rub the other foot, too,” he gracefully lifts it from the water.


	20. "MTV makes me wanna smoke crack"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beck - MTV makes me wanna smoke crack: https://youtu.be/sJTKf01swJY
> 
> and
> 
> Beck - Satan gave me a taco: https://youtu.be/I-XuMvxi-vc

“Fall out of the window and I'm never comin' back,” Charles sings and snaps his fingers to the tune. Erik chuckles against the ball of his foot. He now has one foot in each hand and is impressed how very little Charles is ticklish.   
“I feel like we lost a day,” Charles says.  
“How come?”  
“I thought it was Saturday this morning.”  
“So did I.”  
“Why on Earth did we have a photo shoot on a Saturday?”  
“I think it was the only day they managed to get out schedules to match.”  
“Shit. That could be it.”  
“Yeah.”   
“That's not good.”  
“Nope.” Erik nibbles Charles's ankle and enjoys his reaction. “You really are a kitten, aren't you.”  
“Hear me purr.” Charles makes the laziest claws ever and laughs at his own attempt.   
“Do you scratch?” Erik asks.  
“Don't you want to find out yourself?”  
“I am asking you.” Erik lays Charles's right foot in his shoulder and begins massaging the calf of his left leg.  
“I usually don't. Do you?”  
Erik shrugs. “At times.”  
“Oh yeah?” Charles smiles.  
“Yeah.” So does Erik.  
“I'd love to kiss you right now but I am way too comfortable here.”  
“Don't want to get up?”  
“Nah-uh.”  
“Then I guess I need to come to you.”   
That takes some adjusting and quite a lot of splashing, but Erik manages to surface right next to Charles's face surprisingly quickly.  
“Oh hello there,” Charles purrs.  
“Hello.” Erik kisses him.  
“Mm, that was nice.”  
“Wasn't it.”  
“Gimme another one.”  
“Okay.”  
This one is a longer one, way longer. Charles starts to giggle at some point though.  
“What is it?” Erik smiles against his mouth. His eyelashes carry drops of scented water, Charles notices as Erik's eyes travel between his eyes and his mouth.  
“I love it how your lily white ass is glowing in the dark, emerging from the waves.”  
“Oh yeah.” Erik wiggles it. “That can't be helped right now, can it.”  
“I guess not.” Charles kisses him. “Isn't it getting cold?”  
“Do you want to warm it?”  
Charles pouts. “I'm not sure.”  
Erik wiggles some more.  
“It looks awesome but everything's so nice and warm underwater and it'll be so cold...”  
“Ah yeah?” Erik thrusts his hips under water and with a splash lands the side of his ass against Charles's knee.   
“Exactly like that, ugh.”  
Erik laughs. “Exactly like that.”  
“Ah fine, come on, turn around. I'll massage your shoulders.”  
“I'm not sure I want you to.”  
“Why? I am great with my hands.”  
“Are you.”  
“Yeah, guitarist and all.” Charles flexes his fingers.  
“I don't really like receiving massages.”  
“Tough. Turn around now.” Charles places his hands on the sides of the tub and pushes himself more upright. “Just put your icy buttocks between my lovely thighs and I'll show you how close pain is to pleasure.” Erik grimaces. “I know, I know. Just do it.”   
Erik sulks but does as he is told. (First ever? Charles wonders.)   
“Do you have any oil around here?” Charles rubs his hands together to warm them.  
“Not sure if anywhere within reach...”  
“You invite me to a bath with no lube at hand? What are you, a rookie?”  
“I... just wanted to have a bath.”  
“Suuure. Okay then, here we go. Good-old spit-rub.”  
Charles specifically does not mention anything about how stiff Erik's shoulders are but just starts rubbing them gently, and hums “MTV makes me wanna smoke crack” some more. After a while Erik manages to relax enough to unfold his arms and grabs Charles's ankles instead.   
“It's not that bad, now is it?”  
“No. Not that bad.”  
“Want me to wash your hair?”  
“I'm not sure.”  
“Lean your back on me. Can you still breathe?”  
“Yeah; can you?”  
“Yeah, I'm fine.” Charles moves his nimble fingers over Erik's chest and teases the tensions from there as well. “Most people don't really massage here and I think that sucks.” Erik flinches with pain. Charles smiles to himself. “It doesn't even make any sense. Of course whatever you do with your back has an effect to the front as well.”  
“Back and front action, huh.”  
“Exactly.” Charles moves to the shoulder blades and to Erik's shoulders. “I could do something to your arms, too, but the tub's too narrow.”  
“Another time.”  
“Yeah, another time.” Charles wraps his arms around Erik and holds him tight, sways a little. “MTV makes me wanna smoke crack...”  
“That's a romantic song for a romantic moment.”  
“I didn't want it to be too cheesy.”  
“And everything's perfect and everything's bright-”  
“And everyone's perky and everyone's uptight.”  
Erik laughs until he sighs. “Do we have to get up early?”  
“I don't, do you?”  
“I'll try not to.”  
Charles just lulls him some more. “Maybe you should check your schedules some more and stress about them a little less.”  
“Yeah yeah.” Erik sighs.  
Charles sings some more, enjoying the acoustics. “I work down at the video store-” Erik taps his foot.   
“Should we get more hot water here?”  
“Yeah we should.”  
Erik maneuvers the tab. Charles has his eyes closed, he hums and holds on to Erik.  
“I'm not even sure where my phone is.”  
“Mine is in the bedroom.”  
“Good for you.”  
“I am a little bit of a control-freak.”  
“No shit.”  
“Nooo shit.” Erik turns his head to kiss Charles. “Kissing in water is always a little bit weird, don't you think?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. The skin temperature and texture first of all and then all of a sudden the mouth is something completely different.”  
“The level of moist.”  
“Exactly the level of moist.”  
“Speaking of moist, I am also sweating like a... delicate, clean thing.”  
Erik lifts a bath cloth from the water and wipes Charles's forehead, with his eyes never leaving Charles's.   
“Thank you darling.” Charles smiles.  
“Sure.” He rests his head against Charles's neck and realizes suddenly that there's an acute possibility for an overflow. He turns the tab again.   
They lull, until Charles starts to sing again.  
“Satan gave me a taco and it made me really sick-”  
Erik bursts into laughter. “That's fucking it.” He turns violently around and interrupts Charles's “the chicken was all raw” by biting into his mouth. “Suck on this instead,” he laughs as he darts his tongue into Charles's mouth   
Charles's, who laughs as well but not for long  
but rather wraps his arms around Erik's neck  
who hastily moves to rest his weight on his elbows instead his hands  
Charles slides his left hand over Erik's back   
grabbing with right the short, wet hair at the back of Erik's head, and   
pulls Erik's body against his own by wrapping his arm around Erik's waist  
Erik doesn't seem to be one to use his hands so much as he pushes his hips against Charles's, hungry against his mouth,   
both gasping for air only when absolutely necessary  
Charles pulls him closer and tighter and   
“Fuck this fucking tub,” Erik pulls himself away from Charles all of a sudden. “Get the fuck up,” he steps out of the tub and throws a towel at Charles. “C'mon.”


	21. "I made out with the groupies, started fires backstage"

Charles haphazardly pats himself with the towel here and there and is in the bedroom just in time to see a wet, bony and naked Erik throwing the duvet off the bed and turning on his heels back to Charles  
Charles laughs   
“What?” Erik laughs with him, unsure to what.  
“You should see yourself!”  
“What!” Erik strides the two steps between them and pushes himself against Charles, making him stagger backwards, against the door frame; pushes grasping for his hands and pushing them over his head, imprisoning his wrists between his long, bony fingers. Charles throws the towel on the floor and succumbs to his kissing.  
“Your eyes, man – you're like a proper beast”  
“How would you know, yet,” Erik looks at him with his eyes smoldering but then starts laughing himself. “Yeah, I know.” He rolls his eyes and lets Charles pull his other wrist free, to caress Erik's side.   
“I love it,” Charles smiles at him.   
“Are you going to-”  
“I just did,” Charles bit his lip. It was sore and he enjoyed it. “Let's make it out, baby!” He pulls Erik against his body and subsequently gets smashed against the door frame again. That's going to leave a bruise and he's going to love it. He wraps his right leg around Erik's, who grabs his thigh.   
“Oh baby, you are such a tease... So hot,” Erik manages to say between sucking Charles's lips.  
“I am- but have you noticed how everything you say at this moment sounds really bad?”  
Erik bites his into his neck. “Then don't say anything-”   
He grabs Charles's buttocks, “But scream.” Erik lifts Charles on his arms. “Mind your head.”


	22. "The whores hustle and the hustlers whore"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Desert sessions version of PJ Harvey's -The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore  
> https://youtu.be/kF6TzHGHi80

Charles lands on his back and starts laughing, so does Erik.  
“For fuck's sakes!” he wipes sweat off his brow, which does not make much sense since the arm he wipes the forehead with is just as sweaty.  
Erik laughs. “I know!”  
“Aw, man!” Charles is still panting, and laughing, and realizes all of a sudden that he is way too far away from his lover. So he rolls over and slides his hands over Erik's sweat-slicked body, his shoulder in Erik's arm pit; Erik wraps his arm around Charles.  
“Awww, man,” Charles says slower and sweeter. “You really are something.”  
Erik wraps Charles tighter against him and shivers. “Yeah.”  
Charles laughs, his hands gliding on Erik's stomach and thighs. “Yeah.” He tug gently the hair on Erik's lower abdomen.  
Erik stares at the ceiling with a huge grin on his face. He does not know what else to do but feel absolute bliss and hold as tight as possible onto Charles. He smiles his widest smile and seems to shiver. With ecstasy, anticipation, delirious craving for more, and the sheer relaxation of his muscles, after such a furious race.  
“Does your head hurt, kitten dear?” he remembers.   
Charles frowns and touches the side of his head gingerly. “It will later, I think.”  
“I did tell you to mind your head!” Erik worries and rises to take a closer look.  
“I'm not sure I remembered to do that. I wasn't really paying that much attention to the walls.”  
“I know... neither was I.” Erik places a wet kiss or a dozen of them on Charles's forehead.  
“I think we did a full 360 around this bed,” Charles lays down on his back. Erik is hovering over his body, leaning on his elbow.  
“At least, yeah.”   
“A full Caballerrial alright.”  
“Are you referring me to a horse?”  
“No, to a skateboard.”  
“I would've preferred the horse.”  
“I know you would've.” Charles pulls him down for a kiss. “Should I compare thee to a summer's day, or a horse.”  
“A horse, please and thank you.”  
“Most of the time you would compare to a summer's day in Iceland, though.”  
“Spent in a café reading 50 shades?”  
Charles smiles and shakes his head. “Absolutely gorgeous and moody.”  
“Oh.” Erik grins. He likes it.  
“Windy and prickly.”  
Erik frowns.  
“Spent in a warm pool of suspicious white liquid.”  
“Shut up.” Erik leans in to kiss Charles quiet. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. You should do better things with your mouth than that.”  
“My mouth and sweet ass.”  
“Especially your ass.”   
Charles stretches. “I really really really want some ice cream right now.”  
“I might have a popsicle somewhere.”  
“Up your ass?”  
“Yes. And I know just where you can stick it.”  
“Nice.”  
“I'll go get it for you.”  
“Yes please. I'm gonna go and maneuver a little.”  
“That's very lady-like of you.”  
“Very un-lady-like of you, though, leaving me in such a mess.”  
Erik presses his body against Charles's, who wraps his leg around Erik's. “You weren't complaining a minute ago.”  
“No, that was definitely not complaining I was doing back then.”   
They kiss, long, and then Erik jumps off of bed and off of Charles. He wipes himself, looking at Charles from between his eyelashes, smiling. “I can't keep my hands away from you, kitten. You are adorable.”  
Charles has his arms under his head and smiles back at him.   
“I'll go get you your popsicle now.” Erik throws the towel on the side of the bed. “And then I want to show you something.”  
Charles already loves to watch him go.  
Erik turns at the door. “It's not my ass.”


	23. "the trouble with the trouble"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's song: https://youtu.be/ef-4Bv5Ng0w?list=PL9Cm-43ksRemV2_crzqUGnkqiEh5VNeyC
> 
> (Charles's, perhaps: https://youtu.be/ldCtRxALvyY )
> 
> The composer in question: http://dangerousminds.net/comments/scriabins_mysterium_music_to_destroy_the_universe

“There's this one song I really want to hear right now.” Erik watches Charles sucking on the popsicle and waiting.  
“Please tell me it's not Clair de lune.”  
“It is not... it is Chopin though. What do you have against Clair de lune?  
“It's so overplayed, I've begun to hate it. It's like easy access to classical music. If you want to portray someone as mysterious and intelligent and out-of-this-world albeit contemporary-”  
“They play Clair de lune.”  
“A song that 'tastes of silvery light of his eyes' or some other crap like that.”  
“Look into my eyes and tell me I don't taste like silvery light.” Erik is on his feet, fiddling with the sound system.  
“At the moment you taste like semen.”  
“And exactly how is that different.”  
Charles laughs into his popsicle. The amusement and joy in Erik's eyes is all he needs. “Play your song already.”  
“On it.” Erik picks up a massive blanket from a bench near the window. “Let's go look at the moon though.”  
“There certainly hasn't been enough mooning for one night yet.”  
“Oh, punny. On your feet now.”

Erik does not exactly have a balcony, he has a roof. Here he seems to have given up on his obsession with metal and paneled the roof with wood, and there are deck chairs, a table, a crate which Charles imagines to withhold umbrellas and things like that. There are also lanterns, of course, shitloads of lanterns everywhere.  
It is a cool evening, so the cocoon Erik creates from the blanket and his own body is definitely welcome. They wrap their bodies on one of the deck chairs, cold wind freezing their wet coiffures but under the blanket they are fine and somehow still moist and slippery.   
From somewhere Erik whips out a cigarette and lights it.  
“One of these days those are going to kill you,” Charles steals a drag and places the cigarette back between Erik's lips.  
“I highly doubt it,” he puffs. He is reluctant to take his hands from under the blanket, for a number of reasons.  
“Fast cars and women are going to get you before cancer does?”  
“Very likely.”  
They lay in silence and wait for their eyes to get more used to seeing stars (again).  
“We can't really hear your song here.”  
“I lost my interest anyway.”  
“Did I mock you too hard?”  
“A little.”  
“I'm sorry, bunny.”  
“It's fine.”  
There's another short silence.  
“This Chopin piece was on Star Trek, though.”  
“Really? The Next Generation?”  
“Of course.”  
“I always thought Kirk was a prick.”  
“He was.”  
“I bet you like Scriabin though.” Charles's thoughts seem to freefloat and Erik does not mind.  
“I do.”  
“I knew it.”  
“How?”  
“He did try to start the apocalypse, didn't he?”  
“Not really, no.”  
“Didn't he?”  
“He aimed to change reality. To change everything. The composition was supposed to be performed in Himalayas, in a really specific place with incense and everything. It was supposed to start a process in which mankind would be replaced with a better version of it.”  
“Wouldn't that be the same thing, though.”  
“From one point of view, I guess.”  
“Big ideas from a dude who died of a sore on his lip.”  
Erik looks slightly disgusted for a second. “I wholeheartedly wish he would've managed it, though.”  
“I necessarily don't.”  
“Why?”  
“Would we be here, then?”  
Erik's smile is slant. “Perhaps not.”  
“Yeah.” Charles closes his eyes and sucks on his popsicle. “I'd love to poke you with this but it's too delicious.” He waves the popsicle in air in front of his face.  
“I'll consider myself poked, in that case.” Erik maneuvers the hand he used for smoking under the blanket and around Charles, who winces and smiles.   
“It's cold.”  
“Sorry,” Erik pulls Charles tighter against his chest. “But I'm not sorry.”  
Charles giggles, then rests.  
Erik enjoys the vast sky above his head, gazes the stars.  
Charles is either humming or purring in his arms.  
Erik's eyes close, perhaps in rapture or something along those tracks. He feels the happiness building in and warming his belly. When was the last time he actually had used the word 'belly'? He does not want to ask what the song Charles is humming. He just loves the murmuring and the gentle vibration from Charles's body against his. He feels the tension building in his lap. He enjoys it, quietly smiling. Bliss.  
He slips his hand between Charles's stomach and thigh that is folded against it, wraps his fingers around Charles's member. Charles sucks in a breath and turns slightly, so Erik reaches better.  
“I'm not going to move a muscle, darling,” Charles says, sleep in his voice.  
“Shhh.” Erik's left arm is around Charles's shoulders, keeping him in place, the right hand caressing him gently. Erik stops abruptly. “This is consensual and alright to you?”  
“Yes, it is.” Charles's eyes are shut, he smiles. “Please.”  
Erik relaxes his head back against the back rest. “I wanted to be sure.”  
“I appreciate it.”  
Erik turns his head slowly to kiss the side of Charles's head. “Just enjoy. I want only good things to you.”  
“Good things including a little breath play, apparently.”  
“If you insist.”  
“I do.”  
Erik twists his arm to apply a little pressure to Charles's neck.  
“Mmm, lovely.”  
“Mmm.”  
“Maybe we'll explore that some other night, though?”  
“Yeah, you need to suck on that popsicle.”  
“I'm almost done with it. Sadly.”  
“Good. C'mere,” Erik pulls Charles into a better position in his lap, with Charles's head on Erik's shoulder. “I want to hear you.”


	24. "Io sono  la sola  che possa  capire  tutto quello che c'è da capire in te"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mina: Sono come tu mi vuoi  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBw_fC2KDZ4

Charles wakes up with Erik nowhere in sight. The room basks in sunlight as Charles blinks his way back into this world. He turns on his back, stretches long and pleased with himself and everything else around him. He closes his eyes to enjoy the warmth for a few minutes and then jumps out of bed to get to the shower. He makes some attempts at making the bed but doesn't really care about it enough to make much of an effort, his mind is already elsewhere.

He skips the steps downstairs, wearing one of Erik's luxurious robes, hums Mina to himself and dances the whole of the long hallway to the kitchen. There is no one there, so Charles jams into the study, where Erik is squinting through a pile of papers and the tv screen, which is out again.

“Morning,” Charles singsongs and strides towards Erik who interrupts him by lifting his hand.  
“Yes. I need those. Thursday at eight. AM, of course. Yes. Yes. Goodbye.” Erik flicks something to change the view on the screen, Charles does not see what it is. “You still there? Good. You got all that? Good. You will make the changes. Fine. I will have them by the end of the day today, but tell them tomorrow anyway. Yes, you can book the courier. Eight is fine. Yes. Fine. Yes. Bye.” And another flick, and he raises his voice, just slightly. “Anna, I have sent you the list, did you get it?”  
The blue-haired assistant appears from the room where the sculpture is.   
“Good morning, Mr Xavier, hope you slept well,” she smiles kindly to Charles who is only quite surprised and confused. Of course Erik would already be in full throttle, he should've known. Charles smiles back at the assistant and sits next to Erik on the couch.   
“And yes, I got it.”  
“Get to it, then.” Erik does not even look at her, his eyes are at the screen.  
“Is there anything I could get for you?”  
Erik frowns. “I did give you a list, didn't I.”  
“I was not talking to you.”  
Charles stirs. “Oh, I'm fine, thank you. Except-”  
“Except?”  
“I need a ride home.”  
“I will take care of that,” Erik interrupts. “Thank you Anna.”  
“Thank you Erik. I'll see you later.”  
Erik ignores her again as she leaves, and when she has exited the room he turns abruptly to Charles and kisses him fiercely.  
“I thought you'd never wake up,” he says, smiles, kisses Charles quickly again and then turns back to the screen. “Look.”  
“Some of us actually-” but Charles drops the subject as he looks at the screen. He is looking at the pictures of himself, and they truly are remarkable. “Whoa.”  
“Yes, I know! I really am that good.”  
Charles ignores the remark. “Show me more,” and Erik complies.  
“I also have a few rolls of proper film, they're getting developed right now.”   
“You have a studio here?”  
“Of course I do.”  
“Of course you do.”   
They kiss. Erik's eyes escape back to the screen.   
“I can't wait to get my hands on them.” He can barely contain himself, Charles smiles to himself.  
“Why can't you, then?”  
“I need to wait for the film to dry. I was supposed to do it last night but I... fell asleep.”  
Charles laughs. “Even the strongest of us.”  
“I guess I was tamed in some way.”  
“You know, I would really love me some breakfast.”  
Erik frowns. “Breakfast, yes. I hope I have something somewhere.”  
Anna's voice travels from the kitchen. “You need to just pour the water in the French press. Everything else is already set.”  
“Please leave.”  
“Have a good day, Mr Xavier!”  
“Thanks, you too!”


	25. "Ti guardo per ore"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MIna: Se c'é una cosa che mi fa impazzire  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzCe5Y72NPU

Charles curls up under Erik's arm to read the newspaper and have his breakfast. Erik enjoys his elevensies – another cup of coffee and a fresh pack of cigarettes – and the great discomfort of working with only one hand. They manage to come up with a compromise of Erik operating the mouse on Charles's chest.   
After the longest while of Erik editing and Charles catching up with the world, Charles drops the newspaper on the floor and stretches.  
“Are you full now, kitten?” Erik asks, still working.  
“I think I am.”  
“Good.”  
“You wouldn't happen to have a charger here?”  
“Charger for what?”  
“My phone.”  
“There are some in the kitchen.”  
“The next problem then is to find my phone.”  
Erik frowns for a second. “In your jacket pocket.”  
“Oh, cool. And where's my jacket?”  
“In the hall.”  
“Grand.”  
Erik senses that Charles is expecting him to do something, so he lifts the mouse and lays it along with the keyboard on the table, and gives his full attention to Charles. Who is now resting his head on Erik's thigh, and has fixed his incredibly blue eyes on Erik.  
“What?”  
Charles shrugs.   
“What is it?”  
“I do need the ride home.”  
“Oh, yes.” Erik's eyes drift away.  
“At some point.”  
“Yes.”  
“You said you could lend me a computer.”  
“I did,” Erik's eyes start to wonder. “There should be-”  
“Good,” Charles interrupts.  
Erik hesitates. There is something that he needs to say or do or address. He is unsure of what it is.  
Charles just looks at him, silently, smiling. Then he reaches out and pulls Erik in for a kiss.  
“I think we should go have lunch somewhere. Then you can drop me off at my place.” He gets up on his feet and goes to the kitchen.  
Erik feels suddenly completely alone.  
Charles turns around at the door and smiles at Erik.   
“You know, I *will* come back, if you want me to.”  
Erik bursts into a smile.


	26. "Handjobs for the holidays"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Broken Social Scene, I'm not that cleva  
> https://youtu.be/p4qH23N-2no

Charles lies on the rooftop, he's wearing Erik's boxers (silk, of course), Erik's sunglasses (Gucci), Erik's slippers (definitely handmade) and Erik's velvet robe (vintage). The sun is warm and there is practically no wind where he's dragged the deckchair so he's trying to get at least some kind of a tan, although he feels like he mainly just shines, pale little thing that he is. The laptop Erik gave him is lying next to him, half under the deck chair. Charles did indeed have a hundred e-mails (he has answered half of them) and a full voicemail (he bothered with sending some texts) but all is well. He has made a checklist and a loose schedule for this week, but the main task for today is to enjoy the sun, it seems. He prefers to go with his gut feeling and the opportunities life offers him. 

Scent of a cigarette approaches him. 

“You seem quite comfortable,” Erik murmurs.  
“Mmm.” Charles is too lazy to form words. He hears Erik pulling another chair close to him and he tilts his head in the general direction. “How's work?”  
“Excellent. Making progress.”  
“Glad to hear that.”  
“I... I hope you don't feel stranded here.”  
“I don't.”  
“Good.”  
“I do want that lunch soon, though.”  
“Yes, of course. Do you have a specific place in mind?”  
Charles shrugs. “Nothing in particular.”  
“Should we just order in, in that case?”  
“Don't you want me to leave?”  
Erik takes a long drag of his cigarette. “No, not really.”  
Charles smiles, stretches his hand to touch Erik's knee. “I could come back.”  
Erik says nothing, but puts his hand on Charles's.   
Charles entwines their fingers. “I need to be somewhere tonight.”  
“Oh.”  
“You could come, too.”  
“I'm afraid I'm not big on socializing.”  
“I know.” Charles pulls his hand away and stretches. “I knooowww.” He leaves his arms above his head. “I just might want to show you something in return.”  
“I see.”  
“Yeah.”  
“What time would this... thing be, then? And where?”  
“I'll text you the details.”  
“Now you are just teasing me.”  
“I am.”  
“Fine.” Erik puts the cigarette out. “I don't mind.” He shifts his body on the same chair as Charles, sitting next to him.  
“You're blocking the sun now, man.” Charles frowns.  
“I know.” Erik leans in to kiss him.   
Charles wraps his arms around Erik's neck and brushes his knee against Erik's side. “I really do need to go home, though.”  
“Fine.” They kiss again. “I didn't mean to keep you as a hostage.”  
“You haven't.”  
“Lunch here or elsewhere?”  
“Mmm. Maybe here, I can't be arsed to get decent.”  
“'Arsed'? That's not very articulate of you, Mr Writer.”  
“I have a broad lexicon.”  
“That you do.”  
“Thai would be good.”  
“Thai.”  
“Yes.”  
“I don't know any place that delivers Thai around here.”  
“Erik, you are an island.”  
“Quite.”  
“Move.” Charles pulls his phone from somewhere. “Good thing there's technology.”  
“Yeah, I wonder where we'd be without it.” Erik eyes around himself, over the other rooftops. There are mainly storage houses around them, sunlight bouncing off of them. He squints in the brightness.  
“Do you have any preferences? Urges?”  
Erik shrugs. “I'd rather not eat anything too heavy. Something vegetarian I guess.”  
“Mmm. I'll call them.” Charles takes the sunglasses he's wearing and puts them on Erik while making the call.

“How long they said it'll take?”  
“30 minutes or so.”  
Erik nods.  
“You should build a pool here,” Charles suggests.  
“I could get you a kiddie pool, if you want one.”  
“We could wrestle in it.”  
“In jelly.”  
“In glitter jelly.”   
Erik leans back and Charles makes room for him on the deck chair, resting one leg on Erik's chest – how can he wear a turtleneck even in this heat? - and the other next to Erik's head; Erik turns to kiss his calf and starts massaging the other foot.  
“Isn't that what lesbians tend to do?”  
“Are you straight now?”  
“Muffins are not really my thing.”  
“Too much white flour.”  
“And sugar.”  
“Do you even eat lunch usually?”  
“Sometimes. I tend to forget.”  
“You should pay more attention to your nutrition.”  
“Do you want me to grow love handles?”  
“Manhandles for handling a man lovingly.”  
“Yeah.”  
They share a short silence. Erik switches the foot he massages.  
“What is this thing you're taking me to tonight?”  
“What makes you think I'm taking you anywhere?”  
“You said you have a place to be at.”  
“Don't we all.”  
“You need to tell me.”  
“Do you get anxiety?”  
“I might.”  
“It's something I do every other Monday. I like it a lot. If you can't make it, I won't be sour. It would be nice if you could, though.”  
“I'll do my best.”  
“That is more than enough.” Charles wraps his legs suddenly around Erik and hugs him with them. “I need to be home by four.”  
“Do you live far?”  
“Depending on the traffic.”  
“We'll leave right after the lunch then.”  
Charles sits up and wraps also his arms around Erik, smiling to his face. “You are such a cutie pie.”  
Erik laughs. “I don't usually get that.”  
“You should.”  
Erik smiles, Charles kisses him.   
“Let's go and hover at the door for the food.”  
“Like little doggies.”  
“Exactly like little doggies!” Charles squeezes him. “You need to be like a little doggie more often.”  
“Don't tell me what to do.” Erik lifts him up in his arms in one move and gets them both on their feet.


	27. "I go to loud places to search for someone to be quiet with"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This seriously is the best song I've heard in ages:  
> Jamie xx feat. Romy : https://youtu.be/TP9luRtEqjc

“Can I pick the music?”  
“When you drive.”  
“And when is that?”  
“When we are in your car.”  
“Right.”  
“You need to listen to this, it was released yesterday.”  
Charles looks out the window and nods to the music. Erik's driving is meticulous, precise and way over the speed limit, just like on their way to his house.  
“Do you like it?”  
“I do.” Charles turns his head to meet Erik's eyes. “You have a great taste in music.”  
“I know.” Erik flashes a smile. “This is why I choose it.”  
“In your car.”  
“And home.”  
“Fine.” Charles laughs. “Is this something we're going to fight about?”  
“I don't know. Should it be?”  
“I think we can come up with some kind of a solution.”  
“Yeah.”  
“My place, my rules.”  
“Something like it.” Erik puts his hand on Charles's thigh.


	28. "Boy I gotta watch my body I'm not just anybody"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Aaliyah again, "Are you that somebody")

“You can drop me off at the corner here.”  
“This is it?”  
“Yeah. Don't mock me.”  
“I don't. It looks... cozy. And popular.”  
Charles laughs. “It is, both. I love it here.”  
“You really do like people.”  
“I really do like people.” Charles gathers his bag and his scarf, turns to look at Erik. “Well then.”  
“Yeah.” Erik lifts his elbow on the backrest, turning his torso towards Charles.   
“I guess I might see you tonight, then.”  
“Yes, you might.”  
“I will text you the details.”  
“You have my number?”  
“Yeah, they gave it to me before the photo shoot.”  
“Oh, of course they did.”  
“Yeah. Well, it has been a pleasure.”  
Erik nods. “All mine.”  
“Thank you for everything.”  
“Thank You.”  
Charles laughs. “I don't want this to be awkward.”  
Erik smiles crookedly. “Isn't it always, though.”  
“I guess it is.”  
“I really enjoyed spending time with you this weekend,” Erik surprises himself.  
“So did I.” Charles nods. “Maybe we should do it again.”  
“Or maybe we should just continue.”  
“Yeah, let's make it a really long weekend.”  
“A week long weekend, at least.”   
“Suits me.”  
“Can I park the car here somewhere?”  
“You can, but not now.”  
“Oh.”  
“I got stuff to do first.”  
“I see.”  
“Erik, you have work to do and so do I.”  
“Yes.”  
Charles spreads all the warmth from his heart over Erik with his smile. “You little doggie.”  
Erik frowns but does not protest. He smiles.  
“I'll text you the details, you come if you... can. If you don't, I'll call you. When I'm done.”  
Erik nods. “Sounds reasonable.”  
“Good. Great.” Charles's smile is like the light of a thousand suns. He leans in to kiss Erik, caress his face. Erik wraps his arms around him.  
“I'll call you.”  
“I don't have your number.”   
“Then I guess you need to stay sharp. Bye now!”


	29. “Watch like nobody's dancing”

“Come by any time between eight and ten.” That's what the text had said. Erik stares at himself in the mirror, absentmindedly shaving. “Dresscode: casual.” He repeats the words to himself, in a quiet voice.  
He leans heavily against the sink, staring himself down.   
He does not dare to be a no-show, not this time.   
Casual it is then.  
He rinses the blade and dries his face, hesitates only a second between the various after-shaves and decides not to do anything with his hair. (That would be too much.)  
He turns his back to the mirror and steps back into the dusk of his bedroom.

He has no trouble finding the location; it is very near to the place where he had left Charles off earlier that day. “There are parking spaces in the back, I have reserved one for you.” Erik fears that Charles has left something obscene or extravagant to display his arrival, or their... connection, or something. But there isn't anything of the kind. In the courtyard there is space for a few cars, and on one pole that says 'reserved' is a card hanging. Erik suspects it is for him, parks the car, and as he steps out – he instantly lights a cigarette – he goes to inspect the note, but there is nothing written there. Erik smiles to himself. 

He locks the car, leaves his man bag in it – he did pack a toothbrush, a change of clothes and some prophylactics, just in case – and gets back into the street. There is a pub to his right and it seems to be the exact address Charles has given him. Erik checks his phone while finishing his cigarette. It is a lively street and a lively area, but not too lively. He inspects everything with his brow furrowed, sucking on his cigarette.

As he enters, the bartender greets him immediately: “They are upstairs.” Erik wants to ask did he know that he was coming, if he did then Erik is out of here. “We are not open yet,” the bartender continues and gets back to stacking glasses.   
“I see,” Erik says. “Thank you.”  
He opens the buttons of his coat as his goes to the stairs, there is distant singing that he hears. What the fuck is this. He proceeds anyhow, and up the flight of the stairs there's a wooden door with a glass window, and behind that there are about thirty people seated, holding their drinks, seemingly merry, and facing the corner of the room. Erik opens the door. 

He is greeted with the warmest of sounds – a softly sung ballad, accompanied by a guitar, a banjo apparently, a piano, something else probably as well, but Erik steps in hastily and closes the door behind him. There are people who wave at him and move their chairs, that there are seats and he should take advantage of them. Erik smiles and nods and does not move from the vicinity of the door. He has noticed that Charles is there on the stage, playing the guitar, seemingly immersed in the sounds he's creating in accordance to the other musicians. 

Erik leans against the wall, folding his arms, tilting his head back. It is nice and dark in the room, there are candles on the tables in the audience, and Erik feels comforted by the fact that he can lurk in the shadows. 

Charles knows how to play, that much is obvious. Even though they do joke there on the stage: when someone supposedly makes a mistake, he grimaces, bites his lip and exchanges looks with the other musicians, bares his teeth, laughs silently, never misses a note. It is a pleasure to watch them, him, play.

After the song has ended, the singer thanks the audience – Erik applauds as well, as he watches Charles sipping his beer and carefully placing it back under his chair – and announces the title of the next song. She also announces that this will be the last song they are playing together tonight, and the open mic section would start after a short break. Everyone willing to play can sign up for the bartender and be in touch about accompaniment, if needed. 

Erik leans the back of his head against the wall. His gaze is fixed upon Charles, who seems unaware of his presence. As the song draws to its end it is obvious that he is not. Charles looks straight into Erik's eyes; Erik nods slightly towards the door and Charles nods, just as slightly. Erik pulls himself off the wall and exits the room. 

He does not need to stand alone, a few steps away from the other smokers in front of the bar, for long.   
“Hey there.” He hears Charles and turns.   
“Hi.”  
Charles is all smiles and seems to be a little tipsy, judging from the burning cheeks. “I see you made it.”  
Erik nods. “I did.”  
“Glad you're here.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Could you give me on cigarette? I left mine upstairs.”  
“I thought you didn't smoke.”   
“I don't.” Charles smiles. Erik smiles back.  
“I liked your playing,” he says, going through his pockets, handing a pack to Charles.  
“Thanks.” Charles lights one, hands the rest to Erik. “A group of friends of mine and me, we host this open mic thing. Every other Monday. Pretty much all kinds of performance arts are welcome.”  
“Pretty much?”  
“Yeah, pretty much. We've had some uncomfortable performance artists a few times, but they don't usually come back. I guess the atmosphere isn't great for that sort of thing.”  
Erik smiles. “I guess. Pub audiences can be a bit tough.”  
“Yeah, for certain genres. Instead we have a lot of singers, guitarists, spoken word, that kind of stuff. And if there's someone who wants to sing but doesn't have anyone to play with them, we provide that.”  
“Sounds nice,” Erik says and means it.  
“Yeah, it's good fun.”  
“Mm.”  
“And it's good seeing you here.”  
“Yeah, thank you for inviting me. Are you going to be playing later on?”  
“I'm not sure, it depends.”  
“Depends?”  
“If they need me. I told them though that a friend of mine might come and I might want to have a drink with him rather than perform.”  
Erik smiles.  
Charles laughs. “Yeah, I'm cheesy and wishful like that.”  
“No, I... I appreciate it.”   
“Good. It's fucking freezing in here, though! Let's go back in, I'll buy you a drink.”  
“I'm driving.”  
“Of course you are. You can have one anyway, come on.”


	30. "I'm a rabbit in your headlights"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UNKLE - Rabbit in Your Headlights: https://youtu.be/YNWFHpPu1qs

Charles leads Erik to the couches in the back, next to the bar. He tells Erik to take a seat, which he does, and goes to get them drinks, greeting almost everybody, exchanging a few words and smiles, radiating in Erik's eyes.  
He comes back with a couple of beers, hands one to Erik, and they both take a gulp.   
“Well then.”  
“Yeah.”  
“What have you been up to today,” Charles asks and laughs at the stiffness. He is sitting sideways on the couch, arm over the backrest, stroking his hair, giving up on it. Erik is more stern, eyeing the crowd.   
“Work, mainly.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. Your pictures came out really good. I hope the interviewer does you justice as well.”  
“Oh, great. I haven't actually received the final version. We're having another session with her.”  
“How many sessions has there already been?” Erik grimaces on the inside. He hates vagueness and makeshift conversations. He knows Charles is only trying to make him feel comfortable. He is trying that as well.  
“Three, I think.” Charles seems right at home. He's propped his head against his hand and also looks at the crowd, smiles, greets, the usual for him.  
“Long ones?”  
“Some. She has also followed me doing normal stuff.”  
“Like what?”  
“Well she's not here now, luckily. But you know, meeting people, doing things. Like going to the library to do 'research' and shit.” Charles looks at Erik. “She was there on Saturday you know.”  
“Was she?”   
“Yeah. You threw her out along with the rest of the people.”  
Erik looks like he might break into cold sweats and Charles laughs.   
“I thought it was brilliant! She's so like a typical journalist; convinced she knows everything about you already and just wants to make the pieces fit.”  
“Fuck.”  
“Regrets, Mr Lehnsherr?”  
“I did not know she was there.”  
“She was a pain in the ass, anyway.”   
Erik is quiet for a second.   
“What?”  
“I guess I don't need to worry about working with that magazine again.”  
Charles laughs even harder. “I can tell them I refuse to work with any other photographer.”  
“I fucking hate PR.”  
“I've noticed.”  
“Oh well.” Erik drinks his beer.  
“You're way bigger than she is, so it won't harm our career. Hers, it might.”  
“Good.” Erik drinks again.   
Charles grins.   
“Hey Charlie, is this the friend you were waiting for?” They are approached by a very beautiful, blonde woman.   
“Hey Raven, yeah.” Charles points around. “Raven, Erik, Erik, Raven.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Erik murmurs between his teeth, shakes her hand.  
“Likewise. Are you the photographer?”  
“Well, a photographer-”  
“I went to your exhibition last year. I liked it. Very impressive.”  
“Thank you.” Erik nods.  
“Charles, we need a guitarist, but should I ask Kevin?”  
“Yeah, ask him. He craves the attention.”  
“He really does. Well, I guess I'll see you guys later.” And she leaves.  
Charles sips his beer. “And there you just met my sister.”  
“Your sister?”  
“Yeah.” Charles pats Erik on the shoulder and turns to sit more comfortably on the couch. “Welcome to the family.”  
Erik's eyes are those of a deer in headlights.


	31. "Shoop ba-doop Shoop ba-doop Shoop ba-doop ba-doop ba-doop"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salt-N-Pepa, of course: https://youtu.be/4vaN01VLYSQ

The next act is actually quite an amusing duo consisting of a spoken word artist, loop pedal and a drummer. Charles is leaning slowly closer and closer to Erik, who is beginning to relax, slowly and unsurely. Charles quips remarks of the duo in a low voice to Erik, who needs to lean in to hear him, of course. He is smiling more now, and actually takes his coat off, folding it on the armrest. Charles lets him sit back closer to him.   
“You guys want another round?” the bartender asks as he comes to collect the empty bottles. Charles looks at Erik.   
“Yes, please,” Erik says and reaches for his wallet.  
“Oh, it's on the house.” The bartender looks at Charles who lazily smiles at him.   
“Thanks Jack.”  
“The perks of being in a pub with you,” Erik notes.  
“Yeah. Well, I am kinda running this shit today, so yeah.” Charles stretches. “It's so nice and warm and comfortable here, I get sleepy.”  
“What did you do today, you haven't told me.”  
“Well,” Charles grins. “I came to here 'practice'.” He does the quotation marks and then leaves the right one in the air, turning it into a bunny who goes to talk to Erik. “You may need to walk me home.”  
Erik laughs.


	32. "Bassically"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stole the title: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A17rVbNTtrg

Charles's friends come and go, joining them, moving along, ebbing and flowing but the two of them have invaded the corner of the bar and created a solid base just for each other. Erik hasn't gone for a smoke for the longest while, and they are obviously reluctant to leave their fort. 

“I absolutely must take a leak exactly now,” Charles tries to get up.  
“I could smoke.” Erik reaches for his jacket.  
“You guys are coming back, aren't you?” Kevin, the enthusiastic guitarist, asks.   
Charles frowns, smiles, answers. “We might.”  
“You need to keep an eye on him, Erik,” Raven says.   
“Are we leaving now?” Erik looks at Charles, who shrugs.  
“I can't even think straight right now, I need to pee so bad.”  
“You never think straight, though.”  
Charles clicks his tongue, winks and points at Kevin. “True that.”  
Erik puts his coat on, Charles manages to go round the table. “I'll come out with you.”  
“Okay.”   
Erik hands Charles his jacket, Charles makes a few dance moves on the stairs on the way out, Erik turns his back to Charles who goes round the corner in the dark to relieve himself. 

“Ahh, better now.” He zips up as he comes back, Erik offers him a cigarette and watches him watching the traffic. It has slowed down significantly during the past hours, people are moving from one pub to another, or maybe home. It is getting kind of late anyway.  
Charles turns to him, meeting his eyes. He smiles into his cigarette, squinting.  
“My friends are pretty cool, aren't they.”  
“Yes, they are.” Erik is relieved not having to lie.  
Charles nods. “Is your car in the back?”  
“Yeah, where you left the note.”  
“Pretty clever, huh.”  
“Yeah, it was.”  
“Should we hit the backseat?”  
Erik laughs, shrugs. Charles is serious. Erik realizes that there probably is no better idea right now.  
“Yeah, let's.” Erik throws his cigarette on the street, and turning on his heels searches his pockets for the keys. Charles eyes around him on the pavement taking the last drag of the cigarette and then turns to follow.


	33. "One thousand ways to please your man"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Strokes - You only live once https://youtu.be/pT68FS3YbQ4

They return just before the closing time, flushed, hairs stroked into submission or at least to the direction they were supposed to be. Charles's friends pay no mind, but as they sit on their earlier spot Erik spreads his arm on the backrest, Charles not exactly curling under his arm but very close to it, both smiling wildly.

“Should we sing one more song?”  
“Or two?”  
“Might as well.”

Charles is whispering sweet nothings to Erik and their bubble bursts only when Kevin grabs Charles's knee.   
“The Strokes. Now. You in?”  
“Oh!” Charles stops mid-sentence. “Yeah! I am!” Turning back to Erik: “You cool with this?”  
“Sure, go ahead,” Erik smiles.  
“I'll be right back!” Charles kisses him quickly and then goes. Erik doesn't realize until later that it was their first kiss in public.

He leans deeper into the couch and watches Charles teasingly chatting with his friends, they are dealing out the instruments and arguing kindly about the song, there is no one else on the stage for him.   
All the customers seem to have disappeared, Erik accepts one last beer that he is given and then the band starts to play.  
“Some people think they're always right,” they start and Erik laughs as Charles looks so silly playing the guitar with such intensity.   
They both join the chorus and then sing the rest of the song together, mainly to each other.  
As it is over, Charles doesn't take his eyes off of Erik, he just lifts the guitar over his head, hands it to the person closest to him in that direction and walks straight to Erik.   
“Let's get the fuck out of here,” he says and they do.


	34. "I wish I could eat the salt off your last faded lips"

In the darkness of Charles's apartment Erik is smearing a handful of cum all over Charles's chest.  
“Oh thanks man.”  
“I could lick it off.”  
“Do.”


	35. "Headlong into the irresistible orbit"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morphine: Let's take a trip together  
> https://youtu.be/l6uNOxnAMcI

Erik wakes up without Charles, with a gasp. He is instantly sharp, as he always is, shoots up like a spring and looks about him.  
“Moorniiing,” Charles singsongs from the kitchenette. “Did you sleep well?”  
“Yes, I guess I did.” Erik pulls the sheets around himself. He feels naked.  
“You have the cutest way of talking in your sleep.” Charles is wearing a massive jumper and his hair's a mess. He brings Erik a cup of coffee and sits at the foot of the bed.  
“Do I.”  
“Yeah, you mumble. And drool.”  
“Goddamnit.” Erik would love to deny all of this. He drinks to drown his embarrassment.  
“But it's cute.” Charles leans in to kiss hesitant Erik. “It's fine, I haven't brushed my teeth either.”  
Erik grimaces, returns the kiss only shortly and then gets back to his coffee. Charles laughs at him.  
“You have a nice apartment,” Erik mumbles.  
“Yeah, I do.” Charles looks about as well. It's a huge studio, there are piles and piles of books everywhere. You can't really see any tables anywhere and some piles serve as tables. Or even chairs, it seems.   
There's a glass wall that separates the living room-slash-bedroom from the hallway and supposedly from kitchenette as well, Erik doesn't see what is behind the beaded curtain.  
“This used to be some office of sorts, I think.” Charles says and turns to smile at Erik. “I love the detective agency feel it has.”   
“Charles Xavier, private dick.”  
“Indeed,” Charles laughs and then slaps Erik's thigh. “Listen, do you want some breakfast here or somewhere else? Did you have anything urgent this morning?”  
“I don't, I made some arrangements. What time is it, anyway?”  
“It is...” Charles leans under the bed to find a battered alarm clock. Erik notices that it has a certain steampunk feel to it; either steampunk or art deco. In any case it is exquisite and Erik can feel the quality in it, no matter how sideways and under his bed Charles keeps it. “...Almost nine.”  
Erik frowns. “I'm not sure when is the last time I've slept this late.”  
Charles laughs. “I guess I got you relaxed then.”  
“I don't know, you seemed a bit stiff yourself.”  
“I still am.” Charles lifts the hem of his jumper.  
“Well now.” Erik gulps down the last of his coffee and leans to place the cup under the bed. “C'mere.”


	36. "Conductor! Conductor! Can you bring out the song in me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astor Piazzolla: Four Seasons of Buenos Aires  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T6fF3ZdHX7A

In the shower Erik keeps Charles close to his body, hums to his ear and leads.   
“Are we dancing?” Charles laughs.  
“Yes we are. Tango. Can't you tell?”  
“I didn't think you'd be the dancing kind.”  
“It's not as much dancing,” Erik twirls Charles around and pulls him back skin-on-skin, “as it is pasión.”  
“Lover, not a fighter, huh?”  
“I pick my battles.”  
“Mm-hmm. I think I need to pick up my phone.” Charles is reluctant.  
“Oh?”  
“It's been ringing this whole time.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Are you expecting a call?”  
“I think there are other people who are expecting a call from me.”  
“I see.”  
“I was supposed to have a breakfast meeting.”  
“Were you now.”  
“I didn't really expect you to come.”  
“Oh.” Erik pulls slightly away.  
Charles turns around to face him and wraps his arms around Erik's waist, looks up to Erik's grey eyes. “I am saying that I am absolutely thrilled that you came last night and that you stayed.”  
Erik smiles. “To come this morning again.”  
“Exactly. But I didn't want to count on it, you see.”  
“Wise.” Erik swipes a strand of hair from Charles's forehead.  
“Soooo...Would like to have breakfast with me and the journalist?”  
Erik hesitates.  
“My treat.”  
Erik laughs.


	37. "Let it happen"

The breakfast place isn't too far, and on the way Erik realizes that he actually is quite hungry. He wears his sunglasses even though it is only half-bright, and after lighting his cigarette, his lifts the collar of his coat. To his left, Charles seems to be withdrawing himself into his rugged leather coat.  
“When did it become so goddamned cold?” Charles moans. “And stop despising my coat.”  
Erik raises a brow.  
Charles glances at him and smirks. “I know what you think. I can hear it.” He taps the side of his head and then quickly shoves his hand back to the pocket. “I love my coat. It has a history I might tell you some day, if you behave.”  
Erik nods and smokes. Charles walks surprisingly fast with those little feet of his, Erik actually has to keep up.  
“I think it is here,” Charles grabs a door handle all of a sudden. “If you want to finish your cigarette-”  
Erik nods. “I'll find you.”  
Charles smiles and lingers at the door, eyes in Erik's. “Should I order for you?” he says eventually.  
Erik smiles back at him and shakes his head. “No need.”  
“Pancakes and muffins.”  
Erik makes a noise.  
“Pie and mash.”  
“Please don't.”  
“Bratwurst?”  
“Go already.”  
Charles laughs, blows Erik a kiss with his eyes and is gone.  
Erik turns on his heels to have his back against the wall and eyes in the traffic, contemplates on smoking another cigarette. Charles would mind, though, so he finishes and enters the establishment.  
It is quite dim in there, Erik needs to take off his shades. He picks up a newspaper from a nearby table as he looks around for Charles, who waves from a booth in the corner.   
Erik nods to the journalist as he makes his way around the table to sit on the leather seat next to Charles, opening his coat.  
“I took the liberty to order coffee for you,” Charles smiles at him and turns his attention back to the journalist, apparently carrying on with his answer. Erik smiles to himself, as he gets up to take off his coat, folding it next to him on the seat, smiling both because Charles very charmingly does not offer any explanation for Erik's presence or even gives any room for the journalist to address the Erik situation. His smile grows even wider as he feels Charles's very sly hand on his thigh. Erik quickly opens his newspaper to cover anything that might happen in his lap.  
Waiter arrives, Erik orders eggs royale and more coffee. Charles gives him the eye - “What? I'm hungry” - Erik smiles and shrugs and continues to ignore the journalist, and Charles keeps on talking about his writing. 

Erik skims the articles on the paper but Charles has his full attention. He did know that Charles was intelligent and fascinating but he had had no idea of the level of his sophistication. Charles has a double doctorate – genetics and philosophy, namely ethics. Charles plays the guitar and the saxophone. Erik gets a feeling that he does not reveal even half, no, a quarter, of his persona and still there's loads more than most people could experience in their entire life.  
Erik reaches the end of the paper, folds it, leans back and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He pretends to check his messages, his mail, his calendar, but in reality he takes notes of Charles. Charles's ease, Charles's charm, Charles's wit and the way he adjusts his words considerately – it is obvious, at least to Erik, that Charles's education is a lot higher than anyone else's around the table or even the entire room, but he uses it to everyone's benefit. Erik does realize also that he might be the only one to notice this, since Charles's behavior and outlook do not actually scream his class, but Erik has had his education as well.   
It is mesmerizing to witness Charles the Chameleon, again. Erik savors the performance. (And the breakfast isn't half bad, either.)

An hour and a half later Charles maneuvers the interview to be over. Erik can not pinpoint the exact way Charles convinces the woman to thank him, thank them both – Erik does confirm that the pictures are already delivered to the editor – and then leave. Erik could have sworn that she was never going to leave them alone but she did, amazingly enough. Charles leans back, closes his eyes and caresses Erik's thigh. Erik looks at him, studies the features.  
Charles smiles at him, keeping his eyes closed. “That tickles.”  
“What does?”  
“You're staring at me.”  
Erik smiles, searches for a reply. “Can't help it,” he decides to stay honest.  
“Yeah, I feel ya.” Charles opens his eyes, they just smile at each other, eating each other out with their eyes. “Should we head back to my place?”  
“Yes,” Erik reaches for his coat.


	38. "'Cause I'm a man, woman"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tame Impala: 'Cause I'm a man  
> https://youtu.be/EyEB2AEqHxc

“I will be away for the weekend.” Charles is lying on Erik's chest, drawing circles on the cooling and slowly drying skin.  
“I see.” Erik twirls Charles's hair around his fingers. “Will you be far?” Why did he even ask that?  
“Not really.” Charles stares at the wall, seeing nothing.  
“Business or pleasure?”  
“Family, so neither.”  
“I don't have a family,” Erik says softly.  
“Do you wish you had?”  
Erik shrugs. “At times.”  
“Christmas.”  
“I'm Jewish.”  
“Oh yeah, I knew that.”  
“You did. But yeah, around that time.”  
“Around that time.”  
They share a silence, listening to music absentmindedly.  
“What are we listening to?”  
“Tame Impala.”  
“Oh.”  
“'Cause I'm a man.”  
“I think I'll allow you to pick music in my car. Sometimes.”  
Charles laughs. “Is that the highest compliment you give?”  
“Pretty much.”  
“Thank you, then. I appreciate it.”  
Erik wraps his arms around Charles and kisses the top of his head. “Do you know what time it is?”  
“No idea.”  
“You're not going to find out?”  
“Does it matter?”  
“Not really. I guess the day has already passed.”  
“More or less.”  
“More or less.”   
“Are you getting anxious?”  
“Oddly enough, I'm not.”  
“I'm getting hungry again.”  
“You eat all the time.”  
“We burn quite a lot of calories, man.”  
“We do. Take out?”  
“I know I can't be arsed to cook.”  
“Arsed. Again. Where did you go to school?”  
“Here and there. Why?”  
“I was listening to you today.”  
“I knew it, eavesdropper.”  
“Two doctorates?”  
“Two doctorates.”  
“You didn't go out much then, did you?”  
“I did actually, it was more like I didn't stay much in.”  
“Was it horrible? At home?”  
“Yes and no. No one there, really, so I had to find my own entertainment.”  
“I see.”  
“It wasn't entertainment in the beginning, though. I was trying to accomplish something, but it failed.”  
“Failed?”  
“Yeah. My parents weren't as impressed as I would've liked them to be.”  
“Oh.”  
“I wouldn't say that I'm traumatized, anyway. We all come from somewhere.”  
“We do.”  
“And we have our crosses to bear.”  
“We can use them as a crutch.”  
“Shit, we should listen to Moloko more.”  
“We should. But I want food now that you mentioned it.”  
“Do you think we could keep our pants on long enough to pick something from the corner store?”  
“We could try.”  
They still linger in bed quite a while longer, for every attempt to get up demands a farewell kiss which leads to farewell grind and those things take their time.  
“I might need to steal some of your boxers,” Erik notes.  
“That's cool. For this trip?”  
“No, for tomorrow.”  
“Nice,” Charles grins.  
“What?”  
“Nothing.” Charles throws Erik his shirt he found from under a chair. “You like it here.”  
Erik laughs. “Yes. I do.”  
“Good.” Charles seeks for a clean-ish jumper and finds it. “Let's buy some breakfast stuff then as well.”  
“And a toothbrush.”  
“And a toothbrush.”


	39. "I will not vanish, you will not scare me"

Charles walks Erik to his car the following morning; Erik has a photoshoot and Charles needs to get back to work as well.   
“You have my phone number now, don't you?” Charles's forehead rests against Erik's chin. The morning mist surrounds them and dampens their clothes. Erik's hair starts to curl which Charles finds amusing, though he does not mention it; he keeps it as his own, private, secret observation. He had noticed it already in the morning, when he had watched Erik shave, in an amusingly and surprisingly clumsy way.  
“I do have it now.” Erik holds Charles tight.   
“You are not the kind to text all the time, are you.”  
“No, not really.”  
“Good.” That was a lie.  
“Yeah.” Erik was lying as well.  
Charles lifts his eyes up to Erik's, in some kind of a wait.   
“When will you be back home?”   
“Sunday evening, probably. Monday morning at latest.”  
“I have work on Monday morning.”  
“I'll do my best to be early, then.”  
“I have no plans for Monday evening yet.”  
“Keep the streets empty for me, then.”  
“I will.”  
Charles tiptoes, Erik leans in. 

“I'll call you tonight,” Erik rolls down the window.  
“I'll look forward to it. Drive safe.”  
“You stay safe.”  
“Yeah. I will. 'Bye.”  
Erik reaches a gloved hand to touch Charles's cheek. “Bye.” 

Charles stands in the empty courtyard for a long time. He still has Erik's lighter in his pocket.


	40. "Under the moon, the wolves gather"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulver - Like Music: https://youtu.be/mTsx3zBjwYY

It is Friday evening and Erik has not heard from Charles since.  
Nor has he called himself.   
Erik sits on the roof of his house, listens to Ulver (“under the moon the wolves gather”) and sculpts.   
His jawline is tight, he is focused and his face is void of any other emotion.  
He holds a glass of whiskey in his hand, letting it dangle.  
Sun has set and for a moment, the only light in the darkness is the red spark from Erik's cigarette.   
The moon comes out and glimmers on the sleek metal surfaces.   
Erik gets up, takes a sip from his drink, tilts his head, switches the song back.  
He hums along to it. “Who is there, and is it beautiful-”   
He frowns and turns on his heels, flips the track forward again. “For all who used to be-”


	41. "We hold each other In the dead of night"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulver: Let the Children Go  
> https://youtu.be/voS8_T1KLUY
> 
> or Solitude: https://youtu.be/SMSSctX8ly4

Erik senses his phone vibrating when he is in the darkroom, but chooses to ignore it for the time being. He does almost drop one of his precious bottles but catches it on time. He steps back and folds his arms, refuses to tap his toes as he sways just slightly to the music.   
His phone vibrates again.  
He checks the timer. Few more minutes.

“Hi there sexy, how have you been? Sorry that I disappeared, got sucked into a vortex of work first and then family,” reads the first message.  
“Hope you're having a Friday full of fun,” says the second.  
Erik smiles a tight smile reading the messages.  
“Hello to you,” he starts and hesitates. “Work work work. Just got out of the darkroom.” He pauses and then presses send.   
A reply comes as soon as he makes it to the kitchen.  
“Darkroom of the kinky kind of or the kinky photography kind?” Erik can feel Charles's tickling joy as he reads it, or is it his?  
“Kinky photography kind.” He hesitates again. “You look good naked.”   
Erik pours himself a glass of water – phone vibrates again - and goes to lie down on the sofa.  
“I know. Wish I could say 'wait til you see the rest of me' but I guess you already have.”  
Erik laughs. “What are you up to tonight?”  
“The first of the tedious family dinners is over, and me and Raven both survived. Getting drunk on the balcony now. You should hear my sexophone!”  
“You play saxophone too?”  
“After this amount of wine I play the bassoon. You?”  
Erik looks around.  
“No bassoon for me. Just finished work for the night. Been sculpting as well.”  
“Did you give the tall guy hands?”  
“You'll see.”  
“Tease.”  
“I didn't, I made something else.” Erik wonders if it would be too eager of him to ask when Charles is coming back, but he doesn't even send the first part of the message when Charles already texts again.  
“I won't be back until Monday. Family business. What a pain.”  
“A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.”  
“I am probably just as disappointed as you are.”  
Erik frowns. “Who says I am disappointed?”  
“Something in your pants is telling me that.”  
What an asshole.  
“I will ignore all the crude remarks you are probably typing there now. But seriously, I have been thinking about you a lot.”  
“Fine. Just wonderful things, am I right?”  
“Marvellous, simply marvellous.”  
“Dinner on Monday?”  
“Yes. I'm already starving.”  
“For attention.”  
“That too.”  
“Good night, Charles.” Erik gets up and walks across the house to his bedroom. Funny, he had never thought it to be so large and quiet. As he undresses himself, he checks absentmindedly that all the doors are bolted. His phone is blinking warmly on the bedspread. Erik crawls between the sheets and pulls the phone next to him. He opens the messages.  
“Good night Erik,” says the first one.   
“Wish I was there,” says the second one.  
“Between those sheets and between those thighs,” says the third one.  
Erik's teeth glimmer in the night as he reads them. He tugs at a pillow for it to be better under his head, and after a moment of hesitation, he pulls one from the other side of the bed against his chest.   
“Just blow that sexophone there, boy,” he then types.  
“Blow it all night long! Will you be busy tomorrow the whole day?”  
“Undecided. Why?”  
“I want to hear your voice.”  
“Call me and find out.”  
“Will do.” And there is a kissing emoji.  
Erik pushes the phone under a pillow and wraps his arms tighter around the one against his chest. There are some limits, after all.   
The phone vibrates again, but he is adamant. Enough is enough.   
Erik's willpower is one of his strongest features, and if he had felt lonely or alone before, he didn't anymore.


	42. "Because repetition isn't revolutionary"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Liturgy, no music here tho

It is Friday morning. Charles is huddled inside his coat on the sidewalk, peering around. Raven pulls up next to him, Charles jumps in and they re-enter the flow of the traffic.   
“You look like a hobo,” she says.  
Charles laughs. “And top of the morning to you, too!”  
“It is noon already.”  
“I guess I had a late night.”  
“Did you?”  
“I'm an artist, when I get the urge, I have to create.”  
“Create a herpes, apparently.”  
“Do I-” Charles hastily pulls the sunshade down to see a mirror. “Fuck you.”  
Raven laughs. “I had to.” She is visibly in a better mood right away. “So, where is he?”  
“At home, I guess. Or work.” Charles does know, but he rather adjusts his seat belt. “Why do you ask?”  
“He seemed cute, I guess,” Raven shrugs. “If you're into that kind of starvation-positive look.”  
“He's just fit, he's not starved.”  
“If you say so.”  
“I do.” Charles finds a pair of sunglasses from somewhere. They remind him of Boogie nights, but that's just all the better. “So, what do we have ahead of us this weekend?”  
“A family dinner tonight, a wedding tomorrow and I think there was some fundraiser dinner on Sunday.”  
“At least we will be fed.”  
“To a degree. I know I'll focus on the wine.”  
“Good choice. Although the fundraiser wines tend to be quite horrible.”  
“Charles, my brother, are you a little elitist underneath all the street credible... fur?”  
“I was going to shave.”  
“Hah.”


	43. "And let me swing among the stars"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really like this version:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOiP4eiBjYs

“Do you have a headache? You've been touching your forehead the whole evening.”   
“Just a slight one, I didn't sleep much last night.”

“Charles, I would appreciate it if you didn't set the furniture on fire.”

“Who are you texting with?”   
“Nevermind. 'Fly me to the moon'?”  
“...Sure.”

 

Charles's recollections of the evening are vague at best, and he prefers it that way, as he lands on his bed, on his face, bouncing some. At least his mother knows the worth of quality mattresses, he thinks to himself as he rolls over on his back and raises his hands to rub his temples. Sure there will be a headache, but that is tomorrow, right now there is only one gently snoring man in his head. Charles closes his eyes – the room is lightly spinning – and smiles to himself. He can almost smell the scent of his skin, the ever-present scent of quality tobacco, and... is that incense? Erik, you shouldn't set the furniture on fire either. Charles licks his lips and slides a hand over his own chest. He opens his eyes. He probably should get off of these clothes. And take a shower. Definitely he should at least brush his teeth. But then he smiles to himself, chooses otherwise, closes his eyes again and tries really hard to open his belt while keeping his concentration elsewhere.   
He wakes up six hours later to a knock on the door, with a hand still in his pants.


	44. "Why don't you give it another go, dear"

“Charles, you can afford to pay your rent, do you not?”  
“Yes, mother, I do.”  
“Do you then have anything left for some basic toiletries?”  
Raven chuckles. Charles glances at her over the newspaper.  
“You need a haircut. I believe I could get Raul to come over, if you-”  
“I like it like this.”  
“You look-”  
“-Like a hobo.”  
“I suppose that is one way to define it these days.”  
Charles opens his mouth to say “it's a look”, but he realizes it sounds like he is fourteen.   
Instead, he reaches for another scone.

 

Erik combs his hair, checks his nails and brushes invisible lint off of his shoulder. He has slept incredibly well again. He stares into the mirror a while, blinks and turns on his heels to leave. He reaches for his leather jacket, car keys, and exits his house.

 

His phone vibrates, and without looking he pulls it out of his pocket, keeping his eyes on the painting.  
“Yes.”  
“Didn't think you'd answer with such a positive note,” he hears a purr. Erik straightens up.  
“Charles.” Is he returning the purr?  
“Indeed I am. How are you, my dear fellow.”  
Erik eyes around. “At a gallery.”  
“Ooh, anything interesting? Do you see anything you like?”  
Erik smiles slightly. “Mildly. The technique they employ is quite interesting.”  
“You always were a technical man.”  
“I suppose I am.” Erik moves into another room, a darker corner. There's a projector humming and Erik feels freer to speak. “How about you?”  
“Not so keen on technicalities, myself.”  
“Are you enjoying yourself?”  
“I am at a wedding where all the people I know are people I would rather not know. I believe the closest connection I have had with the bride is that she vomited on my shoe in some prior engagement party, and the groom looks like he is a distant relative of donkey I met in the 80s. But other than that, the weather is nice, and I am quite hungover.”  
Erik grins in the dark. “That sounds like an absolutely mortifying afternoon.”  
“You would hate every second.”  
“I would.”  
“It would be fun to have you here, though.”  
“You enjoy watching me suffer?”  
“Mmm. I would enjoy sharing this... painful existence.”  
“It is very nice and cool and air-conditioned here in the gallery where I am.” Someone shows up at the lit doorway, but when they see it is Erik who is on the phone, they leave without saying anything. Erik does not notice. “I am perfectly alone in peaceful hum of machinery, free to think and do as I please.”  
Charles makes a sound and a face which Erik laughs at even without seeing it.  
“I am sorry. Do you have to spend the entire day there?”  
“Yes, there are all sorts of merry-making festivities here. Thankfully the children sang already. Positively checked that off the list.”  
“I bet one of them plays the viola, though.”  
“Oh shit, you're right.”  
“So where are you now, don't they miss you?”  
“I am loitering under a chuppah, pretending to smoke and to have an important business call I absolutely had to take right now.”  
“Will they really miss you, if you just leave?”  
“Oh yes they will, I have to be seen here.”  
“What if you start a fight or something?”  
“Been there, done that, didn't work.”  
“I am so happy my family is few and far between.”  
“You told me you had no family.”  
“Everybody has some distant, embarrassing cousins.”  
“I hear ya.”  
Erik smiles, picks the sunglasses from his pocket and leaves the gallery. “Is there... anything I can do for you?”  
“To make this less of a baguette in the butt? Yeah, keep me sane.”  
Erik lights a cigarette. “And how do I do that.”  
“Stay within reach.”   
“Should be doable.”  
“Brilliant. I have to go now.”  
“Talk to you later, then.”  
“Count on it.”


	45. "won't you call my name"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saytan: Uragiri  
> https://youtu.be/7HRJZXCV8Jw

Erik strongly dislikes jogging. It sounds lazy, mundane and depressing. It is like everything is sagging and bouncing in a nasty way. Like it has already given up. And it also sounds like there's most definitely clinging, wet, sad cotton involved. Erik ran, efficiently, aiming for effortless and complete drainage of everything – miles under him, energy in him, so that the running is then done and he can proceed into the next thing on his to-do list.

Some girlfriend in the past had informed Erik that there's a woman in some romantic novel (where white people almost kiss on the cover) who agrees with him, and Erik had first passed the retort with a snort and quite quickly afterwards also the girlfriend. 

He is listening to Saytan, immersing himself with the layers, and trying really hard to focus on   
the guitars. 

Charles had not called him again during that weekend. Erik had had the most annoying earworm of Morphine's “Mary won't you call my name” the entire time, but of course a version with Charles's name it in, and the end of the sentence had merged with another song, so the entire weekend he'd been thinking “Charles won't you call my name down in candyland”.

Erik steps off the treadmill, pats sweat from his brow and marches into the shower, hating the song anyway. It seems to perky and way too needy. While lathering, Erik wonders about the way he still had felt Charles close to him at times during the weekend. Like a broken phone, had he been waiting on the other end, hanging on the line, listening to the white noise of the galaxies?

Fuck that shit. He refuses to go through the rest of the thought pattern, rubs himself dry slightly harder than necessary and lights a cigarette. The Marlboro hanging from the right side of his mouth he pulls on jeans – no underwear, today is that kind of a day – decides against a shirt and frowns his way downstairs. Time to do something useful.


	46. "But nobody likes to wait"

Charles shrugs. “I guess it just was enough.”  
Erik raises an eyebrow.  
“It was enough of comfort, I didn't need to call you again.”  
“I see.”  
Charles bites his lip. “It was a tedious party, though.” He follows Erik's movements over the marble surface. “I had plenty of time to go through my personal Erik encyclopedia.”  
“Your what?”  
“Are you angry at me?” Of course he is, Charles knows that perfectly well.   
“Of course not.” Of course I am. You said you needed me.  
Shit. “I thought of your hands,” Charles starts.  
Erik keeps cutting the meat.  
“I thought of your back.”  
Still cutting.  
“And your mouth.”  
“Is this some Grey's Anatomy bullshit now?”  
“Depends on if you refer to the book or the TV show?”  
“Lehnsherr's anatomy."   
Charles keeps his eyes on Erik.  
"I deserve a fucking trilogy."   
“You do.” How could he tell the actual reason.  
“Well then.” Erik turns his back to Charles. He pretends to have to wash his hands, but as he rinses, he squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in and slowly out, opens his eyes and chooses to let go. As he turns back: “So how tedious was it?”  
Charles flashes his radiance. “Extremely-”  
And they both give into the chitchat, relieved.


	47. "...but error moves"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cU2pnhSvZ8s  
> "A god is born and others die. What is  
> has neither come nor gone, but error moves."

Erik ignores the doorbell.  
And the phone.  
For quite some time, actually. He is somewhat proud of himself, sets down the pipes he's been working with, and before he realizes, he's on his way to the hall.

“Fucking hell, Erik.”   
“Hello, Charles.”   
Erik smiles awkwardly and is still puzzled why he came to actually answer the door despite his stern resolution not to.  
“Well hello to you too. Don't you ever answer anything?”  
“I wasn't actually aware that I even had a doorbell.”  
Charles grunts.  
“Aren't you going to invite me in?”  
Erik steps aside.   
“I was working,” he says, like that explains anything. He's drying his hands on a towel, even though they weren't wet to begin with.  
Charles strips off his tweed jacket and throws it on a bench as he walks in to the kitchen for a drink.  
Erik leans against the wall, watches him searching for a beer, a bottle opener, and then taking a long swig before leaning heavily against the table.  
Charles breathes in. “What are you working on, then?”  
“Come see for yourself.”

Erik leads Charles into his atelier.   
“What happened to the statue you had here?”  
“I... Took it apart.”  
There are long, obviously heavy pipe-like sculpture placed around the room. One of them is larger and standing on a pedestal next to a bar stool. Erik walks to it.  
“Did you destroy it?”  
“No, I... It's still there.” Erik motioned towards a pile of metal plates on a shelf. A curiously neat pile, Charles notices, like a folded set of bed sheets.  
“So… What does this one do?”  
“It's an instrument.”   
Erik caresses the gigantic pipe, examines its surface with a gaze that Charles misses.  
“Of destruction?” He does sound bitter.  
“No,” Erik sounds hurt. “Of beauty.”  
“Eh.” Charles turns his back on it all, walks towards the table he has sat on before.  
“Erik, we need to talk.”  
“Apparently.”  
Charles grits his teeth, breathes .   
“What happened, man.” He turns around. “I thought it was all good and then you just quite literally shut me out.”  
“You should know all about literal.”  
“Erik.”  
They stare at each other, eyes blazing.  
“You know what?” Erik spits.  
“What.”  
Erik bites his lip. So hard, he already tastes iron. The sweet, sweet iron.  
Charles realizes he almost pants, he swallows and asks again.   
“What, Erik. What!”  
Erik's eyes narrow. “This.”  
The pipes he's been working on come to life all around him. They stand up tall, form a circle and levitate around him. Erik stands in the middle of the circle motionless, staring at Charles.  
“This?” Charles starts to laugh. “This is why?”  
Erik frowns. “Not quite the reaction I expected.”  
Charles keeps laughing. He lifts his hand and places two fingers on his temple.  
“ _Guess what._ ”


	48. "Am I dancing sexy yet?"

“It must be all the metal around you that has been blocking me out,” Charles murmurs.  
Erik lies down on his back, groans at the cold of the metal, relaxes. Charles rests his eyes on him and smiles softly. Erik strokes Charles's jaw with one finger.  
“I prefer to keep things under my control. And when I relax or focus on something else - I didn't want to risk it.”  
Charles's eyes are so blue Erik feels like he's swimming.  
Charles kisses Erik's finger.  
“I wanted to tell you earlier. When you were so upset of me not calling you.”  
Erik frowns.  
“But you do understand why I couldn't. Nobody wants to hear that they're seeing someone who is able to manipulate them-”  
“Manipulate them at that level, at least.”  
“Yeah, exactly. Not to mention the freak of nature aspect.”  
Erik makes an agreening sound.  
“I'd be upset, too, but frankly I'm too thoroughly fucked right now to actually have a reaction. I probably will freak out tomorrow morning though.”  
“Then I guess I'll just have to keep you in this state,” Charles smiles.  
“Mmh. You need to promise me something, though.” Erik's eyes are suddenly very sharp.  
He doesn't need to elaborate.  
Charles leans against Erik's side. “I won't. I never will.”  
“Good.”  
“We should talk about some limits, though.”  
“Everything's a hard limit, man.”  
“Hear me out first!”  
“You'll have a hard time convincing me of anything else. And mind you – heh – that you already promised-”  
“There are some things that we could do... Like share sensations, or keep in touch from a distance, if you catch my drift.”  
“God damn you Charles,” Erik rubs the ridge of his nose.  
“I'd rather think that She's blessed me-”  
Erik turns on his stomach.  
“Let's see now how close to the bedroom door I can levitate this thing.”  
“Oo, you could make us a slope or some kind of stairs? Could you do that?”  
“...do you really think I used to have a treadmill at home?”  
“You ran on, like, plates?”  
“Yeah. It was quite nasty to my knees, though. Now shush, I'm not at my most focused right now.”  
“I can tell-”


End file.
